


A Miracle For The Disillusioned

by SometimesIWriteBunnySmutOkay



Category: South Park
Genre: Except their personalities, F/F, F/M, I'm not sure which characters are alive and which are dead at this point, M/M, Photographer!Tweek, Seamster!Craig, Totally unrelated to canon, Urban Artist!Kenny, city AU, does that count as major character death?, hopefully not that angsty, more drama than anything else
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-04-28 07:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14444097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SometimesIWriteBunnySmutOkay/pseuds/SometimesIWriteBunnySmutOkay
Summary: TransientialThe urban artist hiding behind the tag was all anyone could talk about. Starting in New Orleans, his politically poignant and socially conscious art had been showing up all over Chicago for a year now, and whoever was behind it didn't seem to want the fame they were generating. It was undeniably fascinating.But of course, Craig Tucker, an overworked seamster working out of the back of a dress shop didn't have enough time to pay attention to the buzz, he was just trying to keep from crumbling under the pressure of life in general. So when he walks out of the backdoor of his shop to find the wordsHands that Work Miraclesspray-painted on the building across from his, tagged with that famous name, his life suddenly starts to change.For once, maybe for the better.





	1. Transiential

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katanachan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katanachan/gifts).



> Tada, Crenny~
> 
> Enjoy.

_ Transiential. _

That’s what they always tagged their art with. For a long time, people had called it a nuisance, hell, most people still did, but there were some who were slowly becoming willing to call it art. But that’s what it was, darkly humorous and always impressively detailed graffiti paintings that outstripped even the most talented of taggers. And always with that name, transiential.

As far as anyone knew, the first real piece showed up on the side of a school building, one that had suffered from a shooting. A child, with a faceless suited man holding a gun to its head. It had been covered up pretty quickly, but the damage had already been done.

People had noticed.

Most had been more amusing. During one particularly vicious election cycle, they’d show up to tag a wall with a Children at Play warning sign, with excellent characters of the candidates in the middle. It had generated media coverage, but no one was able to determine who the culprit was.

At this point, many were of the mind that it was best for it to stay that way.

What was seen as petty vandalism quickly became this person’s way of speaking out, pointing out the flaws in the system. The art was never  _ nice, _ not really. Even the lighthearted pieces held something deeper, but it got people talking. And that was a good thing, in most people’s minds. Without a face, one person had changed the minds of thousands.

So it was funny, Heidi thought as she adjusted the large, perfect print of the artist’s latest work, a line of people on their phones slowly filing into a dark door that was labeled  _ The Hive, _ that they’d chosen the name  _ Transiential. _ Transient meant fleeting, empty even. It didn’t describe the art people were seeing at all, and yet the name fit, somehow. Many had assumed, and Heidi had as well, that it was commenting on the fact that most of the graffiti ended up covered over, and therefore didn’t last, but she didn’t think that was it anymore.

“Who are you?” she mused aloud, her sharp eyes trailing over each piece that her museum held in this particular room.  _ And what will it take to find out? _

Well, one thing was for sure, she wasn’t going to figure it out today. Heels echoing against the spotless linoleum floor, Heidi walked out of the room.

))))-((((

“Come on Tweekers, this is, like,  _ the fiftieth _ picture you’ve taken. You have to have at least  _ one _ good one.”

“Ngh- JESUS Sh-SHUT UP!” Tweek exclaimed, fussing with his cameral twitchily before lifting it up again and focusing it on the languid man in front of him. “It’s only been forty-eight,” he pouted, before rapidly taking three more photographs as the sandy-blond turned his head to face him.  _ No, no, yes~ _ Quickly flipping back through the album, Tweek stared at the final picture and felt a thrill of triumph run through him.

“Oh, I know that look,” the man who’d been modeling for the young photographer said, chuckling as he swung his legs off of the industrial piping of the abandoned factory and sauntered over to where Tweek stood. “Have you finally managed to capture my ravishing good looks once again?” Squeaking out in protest at the sandy-blond’s words, Tweek blindly shot out his hand and attempted to smack the man, only earning himself a chuckle.

“Y-you look good in every picture,” Tweek complained, changing the exposure on the picture and humming in approval. “I just need -rrr- everything else to look alright.” Quickly, he held out the camera so the man could see it.

The old Chicago factories always looked grungy, forgotten, but the addition of the man to the scene changed the tone ever so slightly. There was something so purposefully careless about the image, in the way that sun-kissed and freckled skin stretched out from underneath that ancient orange jacket, contrasting the ripped blue jeans and white sneakers. With the sunset glowing through the horizon, turning the scene almost pinkish purple, and the way those sky blue eyes lit up and gleamed even through the shadows, it was in Tweek’s mind the perfect picture.

Kenny, as usual, chuckled. “You’d be able to make anyone look good Tweeky.” Letting out a sound, Tweek punched the man’s arm and wrinkled his nose at the mockingly hurt gasp that followed. “Violence? In a place like this? You wouldn’t want to make a bad problem worse, would you?”

Ignoring the sandy-blond’s comments, Tweek mumbled, “Grr- I should bring my r-roomate next time, I wish I could get pictures of you two together.” Shivering, thinking of the Noirette actually putting up with something like this, the blond shook his head. “Actually, n-nevermind.”  _ He probably would get annoyed by this. _ While Craig was a wonderful friend for any number of reasons, he could have stood to have a little more patience. Something like this would probably annoy him.

“What, am I not enough for you?” Kenny asked, his voice a soft croon. Rolling his eyes at the typical Kenny-esque comment, Tweek mumbled something under his breath about weird people before actually answering.

“I can’t just take pictures of  _ one _ person.” Turning off his camera and shuffling towards the metal staircase that would take them up to the roofs of this section of the factory, Tweek watched as the sun continued to set over the city. Before, he’d hated the sunset, if had always heralded nighttime, and the terrors that were associated with it, but now it was just… another time of day, a beautiful time, where he could take his pictures in peace unprofessionally, just for fun.

“I’m just messing with you Tweekers,” Kenny reassured the man, loping along after him at an easy pace. “Company would actually be pretty fun.” When they’d first met, the sandy-blond had originally upset Tweek, stressing him out more than anything else, but he’d quickly grown used to him. Now, he was almost a comforting presence, and Tweek appreciated it more than anything else.

As they reached the roof, Tweek stopped in the center, allowing Kenny to keep wandering forward. “H-he’s not exactly an extrovert,” the man told the sandy-blond, fiddling with his camera as he changed the settings to fit what he was seeing. “So he probably wouldn’t go anyway.” Shivering, unsatisfied, Tweek let out a small sound of consternation and tugged at his hair with a hand.

“Maybe you should tell him to get out of dodge then,” Kenny hummed, catching the railing and throwing his legs up and over it. Leaning against an old ventilation pipe, the man grinned at Tweek and said, “Chicago isn’t  _ exactly _ the place for an introvert, is it?”

“I w-wouldn’t know, I grew up here, I didn’t get a choice,” Tweek mumbled, trying to figure out why he didn’t like what he was seeing.  _ Something's off about the picture, but what?! Jesus, why can’t it just be easy?? _ Dancing in a half circle around where Kenny was sitting, Tweek let out a groan of frustration as the boy slipped off the railing and kept wandering down the roof, now on the very edge of it, just outside the protective metal barrier.

“Hell of a place to raise a kid,” Kenny commented, his voice soft as he stared off at the setting sun. The sky was lit with fiery colors that made the horizon drip with blood which faded into blues and purples that bruised the clouds and finally gave way to the freckled stars above them. It was beautiful, perfect for a picture, but something about it just wasn’t lining up.

“W-well, you had a little sister so you’d look at it differently,” Tweek reasoned, growling in frustration as he flitted his fingers over the camera obsessively. At his words, Kenny paused and leaned over the railing, his eyes growing distant.

“Yeah, I guess I do…” Trailing off, Kenny’s usually smiling mouth turned down slightly before twisting back up into a regretful smile. “She’d have loved it here, Kare-bear always did like bigger cities.” Settling his ribs and against the metal, Kenny turned towards Tweek and squeezed his eyes closed as he grinned, even though the pain in his expression was clear. “But she’s gone, and now I’m here. Funny how things turn out.”

“Yeah, f-funny.” Then Kenny opened his eyes, and in that moment with the man’s hair blowing in the breeze, and his eyes speaking volumes of agony that could never be expressed, Tweek took the picture.

_ Perfect. _

The sun finished setting over Chicago, the world went dark, and for a second there was almost a semblance of peace. Here, that was as close as it ever got.

 


	2. Thaumaturgical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **  
> **  
> _Thaumaturgical_  
>   
> 
> thau·ma·tur·gic·al \ ˌthȯ-mə-ˈtər-jik-ôl \  
>  _Adjective_
> 
>  **Definition**  
>  1 : a description of one who performs miracles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finger guns* I promise, this isn't going to be a complete basket case.
> 
> Enjoy.

Craig’s head softly thunked against the table and he stared at the heaps of satin that were piled up on the sewing table he was currently trying to melt into.  _ Oh god, remind me how I managed to get myself into this bullshit again. _ His eyes hurt, they  _ always _ hurt but they were especially painful today, like needles stabbing into the optic nerves and driving straight through to his brain. Yeah, he was going to have a migraine tomorrow, and it was probably going to be a bad one.

Running a hand over the prom dress which was due for a fitting today, Craig marveled at the fact he’d even gotten it done at all.  _ Fuck, I should hang it up before it wrinkles. _ Third dress done today, not because he was a pinnacle of productivity, but because the assistant manager Millie was a ditz who had lost several different orders and had only dug them up today, right before they were due. Thank god he’d gotten them done, maybe he’d actually be able to relax and do something a little more fun. There was the embroidery he was doing for the wedding dress in the corner that required hand stitching. It would strain his eyes, but it would be calming.

Outside, the rain that was pelting the Chicago skyline changed directions just enough that it slammed against the second story window of his back room. Glancing over at it blearily, Craig ran a hand through his oil spill hair before tugging his hat back down over his forehead. He loved this job, but sometimes, it got to be a pain in the ass.

He wasn’t even technically an employee here. Just a consultant free-lance seamster who could work miracles with a sewing machine. If he was being honest, he was probably better than literally everyone else in the goddamn place, and Bebe, the manager, knew it well. It was why she’d begged him to work there in the first place, citing their life-long friendship as a reason for the transition from his last place of work.

_ I know that you’re working on suits and stuff and that’s more… normal. But you’re the best Craig, and you know that your manager treats you like crap. He’s using you. _ And she’d been right, not that he’d particularly cared, at least initially. But after enough pleading, and enough thought on the matter, he’d agreed.

_ It pays better than the last job, at least. _ Still, the thought of having to deal with any more of this bullshit was nothing short of exhausting. Oh, he had discovered that being surrounded by yards of chiffon and charmeuse was nothing short of calming, but the moment people got involved, it was suddenly no longer so nice.  _ At least I got these things done… _

There was a knock on the door. Jerking his head up, grabbing for the finished dress so that it could at least look like he was working, Craig found Bebe peeking her head in through the open door.  “Hey~” she ventured uncertainly, her smile hopeful and apologetic as always. “So the two-thirty is here early, and I don’t want to rush you or anything but…”

Holding up the yellow and gray tumble of glitter and gloss, Craig fixed the woman with one of his usual deadpans and said, “It’s fine, I finished it.”

“So I know that Millie was supposed to be in charge of this one,” Bebe shifted from one foot to the other as she spoke. “But she’s out today, and I can’t get ahold of her, and I was wondering if…”  _ You would take her place. _ She didn’t even have to finish the sentence, it was always the same after all. Though he sort of wanted to hang his head wearily, Craig kept his expression flat.  _ At least you love doing the work. _

Mostly. It could still be fucking stressful as hell.

“Ye _ p,” _ Craig muttered, grabbing for the star-shaped pin cushion that Red, his cousin, had given him several birthdays ago before walking up to Bebe. Breaking out into a tired but thankful smile, the blond woman took the dress from Craig.

“I promise you’ll get a day off tomorrow,” she said, even though the words made the stress lines re-appear in her face. “I’ve been putting so much pressure on you, but I don’t want you to break down or anything.” Craig might not have been the best at reading people, but even he could tell when Bebe was trying to be too nice for her own good.  _ I’m not getting any sleep this week, am I? _

Spending a second mustering the wherewithal to speak, Craig finally asked, “Esther’s still sick, isn’t she?” When Bebe didn’t answer, Craig took her silence as affirmation enough. “I’ll come in and help out.”

“No, Craig, you don’t have to,” she insisted stubbornly, even though it was clear his offer tempted her. “Jenny and Millie will be in, I’ll have enough people to cover it if we all put in a little extra time.” During this season? Not fucking likely. Not when this store was smack-dab in the middle of the rich part of Chicago and everyone and their mother always seemed to have something going on. Just because the place was a shithole in certain parts didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful in others. 

“Millie and Jenny-” Craig started, but Bebe cut him off.

“I know I know, Millie is forgetful and Jenny is always flaking but they’re my  _ friends _ Craig, they’re your friends too.” It was true, but it was also patently false. Sometimes, the Noirette couldn’t tell if he wanted to strangle the other women in the shop or awkwardly pat their head and politely ask them to stop crying. Because there was no in between around here. The only one who held her shit together was Bebe, and that was because Bebe’s wife was propping her up almost twenty-four seven when she wasn’t off on one of her art-collector/art curator trips or whatever the fuck she was doing.

Knowing that he wasn’t going to get her to give in outright, Craig just defeatedly told her, “You know my number, if something happens just call me in.” 

If Bebe had been an overly emotional girl, she might have cried. As it was, she just sucked her bottom lip in and fiercely said, “You are too good for this place Craig Tucker, I swear.” And had Craig been a different person, he might have agreed with her, but he didn’t. Instead he took the dress back from her and gave her a stoic expression.

“No, I’m right where I belong.” Done being sappy, Craig stepped out past the woman and headed towards the fitting rooms.

Admittedly, it was a bit hard to understand how Craig Tucker of all people had ended up in a dress shop when he looked like he’d be more fit for a baseball team or quite possibly a head exec position in some faceless corporation. Considering the astrophysics degree that he’d actually gotten in college, it was rather unbelievable that he’d ended up in the back of a dress shop not even technically hired, but the world was a mysterious place. At least, that’s what his weird-ass landlady had said.

With his calloused fingertips and migraines from the amount of needle work he did, Craig certainly felt like a seamster. It was far better than the Tailoring position he’d had before, that had been abysmal to say the least, but people still told him he didn’t belong here. In a dress shop of all places, they’d exclaim, looking shocked. And Craig had gotten used to being told that he just wasn’t meant to be here. It was kind of par the course really.

If you looked at the matter differently however, Craig was pretty sure that he was perfect material for this place. Sewing had become an escape for him, considering the fact that he’d never been a particularly good artist in any other way. His mind had always been very divergent. Half of him was fixated on space, and the other half just wished that he could produce magic from his hands like Tweek did with a camera or Wendy, an unlikely friend from his college days, had with a paintbrush. This was as close as he could get, so he’d take it.

Besides, he loved it more than anything else.

Despite the shitty job, of course.

Containing the internal screaming that seemed to always be ready to break from him, Craig walked into the fitting room that Bebe pointed him towards and held up the dress. The mother was heavily makeuped, with long acrylic nails that she felt the need to tap against everything as she talked. Her daughter was soft spoken and pretty, but let her mother walk all over her. To Craig, they were just another couple of people that he’d have to deal with.

“And you know, we can’t just have her lookin’ like she’s walked off the street,” the mother was telling Bebe, who was trying to placate her as Craig pulled the curtain across the girl and handed her the dress so she could change. “I don’t want nothing that doesn’t make my girl look like a  _ queen.” _ As if anything they sold or altered would look like shit, but Craig didn’t open his mouth. That wasn’t his job.

“Of course Ma’am,” Bebe soothed, her fingers twirling as she spoke. “We’d never let her look anything less than perfect.” Ignoring the conversation, Craig waited for the girl to come out. The moment she stepped out from behind the curtain he started walking around her, carefully taking into account all the places that the dress would need to be tucked in or let out before getting down on the ground and carefully checking the hem.

Pulling out the soft tape measure that he kept tucked in one of his hoodie pockets, Craig plucked up a couple of pins and stuck them between his lips as he began making the adjustments he needed to. Thankfully, so far he hadn’t been required to speak, but that could change at any moment.

“-And I need this dress done by tonight, mmhm, ‘cause we ain’t gonna have time to come pick it up any other time after that. So I’ll drop by at nine and get it.” Jerking his head up at that, Craig stared at the mother before looking at Bebe, who was of course nodding like this was completely alright.  _ Fucking hell, the tag said I’d have till Monday. _

“That’s not enough time,” Craig told the woman bluntly, his eyes unwavering as he stared at her. Her face started to morph into outrage before Bebe hushed her, patting her arm carefully and tittering, waving away Craig’s words.

“Pay no attention to that, it’ll be plenty of time. We’ll absolutely have it ready for you,” Bebe told her brightly, as if nothing was wrong at all. “We have some of the most talented people in the city working here, it’ll be a breeze.”

But of course it would be a  _ breeze, _ because Bebe had said it would be, and Craig wasn’t about to argue with her in front of a customer.  _ It was supposed to be my day to cook dinner, Tweek deserves a better housemate. _ Hell, it had been his day to cook dinner for the past seven days, but he hadn’t even begun to have the time. But that, Craig told himself firmly, was life. Better get over it now instead of letting it ruin his concentration.

“Well it  _ better _ be,” the mother said, snapping. Glancing up at the girl who was actually getting fitted, Craig raised an eyebrow and received an apologetic look in return. At least, he consoled himself as he finished the hem. Not everyone in this place was absolutely fucking insane.

Getting to his feet, Craig asked, softly enough that it wouldn’t interrupt Bebe’s and the mother’s continued conversation, “I need to make some adjustments in the waist so it doesn’t squeeze you like that, otherwise it’ll sit wrong.” Making mental notes of the seams that Millie had made that he needed to let out, Craig continued on, drawing in the extra material over her back, pinning the sleeves, and other little adjustments.

“-Craig? Craig!” Shaking himself out of his concentrated daze, Craig made a sound and received a exasperated look from Bebe. “They want you to change the style of beeding across the top so that it dips lower. That won’t be too difficult, right?”

_ Ah yes, a trick question. _ “Of course not,” he said, already feeling his headache getting worse. “I hope you have a pattern.” Instantly he was handed a grainy photograph and the mother launched into a story about her sister’s prom dress, and something about an entire bottle of tequila, that Craig really care less about.  _ I’ll call Tweek after I get out of here. Or leave him a message or something… _

Finishing up with the alterations he needed to make, Craig looked at Bebe and said, “I guess I’ll leave you three to it. Bring the dress back when she’s done changing out of it.” Then, before he could be roped into any more insanity, he excused himself from the room and headed to his workspace, already feeling his bones growing heavy.

Pulling out his phone the moment the door was closed, Craig dialed Tweek’s number and put it on speaker phone so he could ineffectual thunk his head against the door and sigh through his nostrils. A moment later, there was the usual message and he got Tweek’s answering machine.  _ “Oh jesus, um- I- I Can’t come to the phone right now!! I haven’t died, I’m just- OH GOD WHAT IF I DIE!?!” _ In the background, Craig heard the sound of his own voice as he took the phone from Tweek and finished the message.

_ “Tweek Tweak can’t come to the phone, if you need him, leave a message. If it’s urgent, then leave it urgently. If he’s having an emergency and you think you’re more important than his issues, fuck you. I’m pretty sure it’ll just beep now.” _ And there was the beep, only slightly preceded by Tweek’s panicked and frantic scream.

Blowing out another breath, Craig said, “Captain’s log 147. Star date-” He glanced around for his star callander only to find that it was still missing. “Insert Star Date here,” he finished, before walking back over to his work space and putting the phone down. “So I’m not going to be home till late apparently.”

Staring out at the still violent rain, Craig muttered, “Stupid fucking assholes, can’t fucking  _ stand _ them.” Attempting to relax as he spoke to the phone like he was actually talking to his childhood friend, Craig continued, “I’ve got a lot of last minute work that got sprung on me. I’ll be fine, but I won’t be able to make dinner for you. Again. Fuck, I’m a fuck up.” Shaking his head, the man leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“I’m still dealing with Millie’s fuck ups. I bet you’re getting real fucking tired of hearing about them, but that’s all I’ve been handling recently.” Tension just unknoting itself from his back, Craig pictured his blond friend and said, “She missed the fucking fitting, and now I’m going to have to take over the work she should have done. It’s nothing I can’t handle, it’s just… Fuck, it’s just annoying.” Saying it out loud, clearly admitting that he could handle it made it feel a little better, and the lines between Craig’s eyebrows unknitted slightly.

“Please don’t lock me out tonight dude, I forgot my key, and it’s raining pretty hard.” A pause. “I guess you’re the one taking pictures in it, so don’t get too wet.” The last time Tweek had gotten a cold, Craig had almost entirely collapsed under the strain of trying to take care of the man, even though he didn’t really need the help, and a particularly disastrous slew of bridesmaids’ dresses. “Make sure to pack an extra towel or some shit.”

Glancing out of the window, Craig sighed once more and said, “I know you wanted me to come with you last night while you were taking pictures, but I’ve just got too much going on, and I needed that time to crash. I’m sorry.” He could almost hear Tweek, screeching something about  _ Jesus don’t apologize for taking care of yourself!!! _ And it made him almost smile. “I promise, one of these days I’ll go with you.”

It was a mostly ridiculous voicemail, Craig knew, but it was a habit of his. Tweek had insisted after one too many nights were Craig had come back to their shared apartment and stayed up till one ranting about his frustrations.  _ I h-have so much time during the day, just  _ call  _ me! _ He’d insisted, his eyes wide and firm.  _ Yell then, so when you get home, y-you won’t feel likeyouneedtoo!! _ So Craig had listened, and so far, it seemed to be working just fine. Or at least, it did when things weren’t this crazy.

But he kept his mouth shut when he was at home, so at least he wouldn’t stress out the already manic blond he lived with.

As his inner balance returned to normal, Craig snorted and said, “Maybe you can finally introduce me to that Kyle dude you’ve been talking to at your work all the time. I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to check and make sure he’s suitable husband material or some shit.” Yeah, that’d earn him a slap from Tweek, but anyone would have recognized the hopeful look the blond got in his eyes every time he brought the fiery male photographer up. Craig wasn't so much of a soulless overworked shit that he couldn’t poke fun at his roommate.

“I’ll see you later tonight,” he finished, already reaching for the phone. “If you get trapped outside in the rain, give me a call, at least then we can be cold and miserable together. Bye I guess.” Hanging up, Craig leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He’d survive, if only just. And Tweek would be fine too, even though Craig would still feel like shit for leaving him alone and being a terrible friend.

A moment later, Bebe was walking in with the dress, as well as another two hangers that made Craig’s spirits sink. “I know you have to get this done by nine,” she stared, her face nothing short of repentant. “But-”

“You found some more of Millie’s missed projects?” Craig asked, keeping the mental swearing where it belonged, inside his skull. 

“This one’s due by four, and this one is due by four thirty when she comes in for her fitting,” Bebe admitted, her voice showing just how much this was taking a toll on her. “Please, can you-”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Craig mumbled, not even bothering to as if Annie or Heather could take one of the dresses because Bebe wouldn’t be here if they could. “Next time, can we try to find these a little earlier?” It was an unfair jab, but he couldn’t help himself.

True to form though, Bebe just put her head down in the image of penance and said, “I’ll try, I really will. I’m so sorry to do this to you.”

“I know you are,” Craig told her, voice calm despite the looming headache building up once again. Taking the dresses from her, Craig said, “I’ll get them done.”

“Thank you,” she said, her voice breathless, before she pushed a tired smile onto her face and hurried back out into the shop, shutting the door behind her. Turning around and staring at his work table, Craig straightened his back and squared his shoulders. He had a lot of work to do, and thinking about it deadingly wasn’t going to help him. Much better if he just got on with it.

Maybe at some point tonight, he’d be able to get some sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... I honestly just need a hug right now, I've had a rough day, but writing this literally all in one go helped. 
> 
> Angel, Cori, you both are wonderful.


	3. Antipathical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Antipathical_**  
>  an·tip·a·thic·al \ ant-i-ˈpath-ik-ôl\
> 
> _Adjective_
> 
> **Definition**  
>  1 : a strong feeling of dislike · an _antipathy_ to taxes · a deep _antipathy_ between the groups  
>  2 : something disliked : an object of aversion  
>  3 : opposition in feeling (obsolete)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hugs angel and Cori tightly* You guys are the fucking best, m'kay?
> 
> Enjoy.

Rain, as many a person could tell you, could be horribly inconvenient at times.

Kenny, for one, was cursing under his breath as the rain soaked through his hoodie and started to seep into his skin till it felt waterlogged and uncomfortable. But that was a small price to pay for complete and absolute freedom. Even in Chicago, crime went inside when it got to be this rainy. 

Except for one type of criminal. His type, obviously.

_ It’s only a crime if people agree that it is. _ Kenny preferred to think of himself as something more like a tool for an angry world who had lost its voice. Which probably was just a way of covering up any possible guilt that he might feel, but hey, it  _ worked. _ At least until he thought about it too hard.

His current target was in the middle of the street, which probably wasn’t the best place to be, but Kenny wasn’t exactly known for his wonderful ideas. Curling his fingers around the two spray cans he had in his deep pockets, the man smiled bitterly. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t given them two days to do their job. This was his job, and he was going to do it right.

Ahead of him was the pattering of rain against plastic as it relentlessly pelted the police tape that had been left up around the crime scene. After tonight, any evidence they could have gotten would be useless, but they’d left the tape up because fuck it, who cared about disrupting traffic or not getting shit done while the evidence was fresh. Just some  _ gangs _ shooting each other up, right? Well fuck that, fuck them.

Taking a deep breath, dragging in the smell of copper finally washing away and of the collected grief that seemed to leach up from around him, Kenny calmed himself down. He couldn’t storm into the police station and demand that the city do its job, because it wouldn’t no matter what he said. All that would happen was some laughter and then the proverbial middle finger before they showed him the door. That’s just what  _ happened, _ and no one much cared, because most people had grown accustomed to it, but Kenny, he hated just adapting to shit. Because then the shit never went away, and no one else bothered to raise an issue with it.

If there was one thing he’d learned, it was that if you couldn’t do any good within the boundaries, then you had to do good outside of them. Curling his lip as he stood outside of the cordons, staring at the scene and the bullet holes still in the pavement, Kenny wondered if outside of the families they came from if anyone would mourn the loss of those seven people.  _ They won’t, _ his head reminded him as his blond hair clung to his forehead and sent rivulets of water dripping down his face.  _ Because they don’t care. _

Well, he had two cans of fluorescent waterproof paint, and he was going to make them remember, just like he always did. And then they’d at least pretend to care. Hopefully, the few good people out there would actually care, and something would change. If not, then he’d done all he could, and it just wasn’t enough. He was used to it not being enough, but he had to hope that it would be, otherwise he’d crumple under the weight of it all.

Ducking under the yellow tape, Kenny pulled out the luminous yellow he’d brought and started shaking it. Unfolding the plastic tarp that he’d carefully cut into the stencils he needed, Kenny chose one of the highly detailed pill shapes and laid it down over the first bullet hole. One quick spray later, and he was moving on, this time pulling out the vivid purple he had. The colors ran as he painted a cookie that said  _ Eat Me _ on it in twisted letters, but he ignored that, instead quickly filling in the little lines that were inevitable with something like this. The effect was good, but he kept going.

Under the cover of rain and the night, he kept covering the pavements wounds with garish colors that made them somehow all the more ugly. Dissatisfied with this, he made sure to paint the inside of each of them with opposing colors, making each of them stand out all the more. He wanted people to see what had happened, he wanted them to remember. Maybe someday, they’d listen.

_ They never do, because they’ll never understand. _

He was momentarily tempted to argue with himself, before Kenny shook his head and kept moving. No, it was true, but that didn’t mean it always had to be true. Still, the scene was as bitter and mocking as it was beautiful. All the bleeding colors, it made the whole thing look like an acid trip, and goodness knew Kenny had gone on one too many of those. While a big flashing neon sign would have gotten as much attention as doing nothing, this would attract attention, because it  _ always _ did.

Stepping back for a second, Kenny looked at the various pills and cookies and potions and cards with a sort of dissatisfied air.  _ I think that the problem is we’re not all mad enough, if we were all mad, then maybe this would start to change. _ As the bubbling pit of resentment started to overflow, Kenny dragged in a breath that smelled of paint before splashing towards the manhole cover that lay in the middle of it all.

Pulling out the ziplock bag with his fresh pairs of gloves, Kenny wormed his way into them before putting aside his paint so he could heave the heavy metal plate up and over a few inches so it started to reveal the tunnel below. There was the roar of the draining downpour below, and the lingering smell of blood and raw sewage, but thankfully, he hadn’t planned on going down there. For just a second though, he wondered what would happen if he jumped down there and got dashed to pieces by the rushing rain water.

But that wasn’t his purpose. That wasn’t his goal.

Drawing a big lavender arrow on the manhole cover then outlining it in yellow, Kenny bit his lip as he started the truly complex part of this whole thing. This was the actual art, not the stencils and perfect images, this was where it got difficult, and thus, this is where he excelled.

In looping, dizzying letters, Kenny wrote out,  _ To Wonderland. _ Even though it was only two words, he kept running over and over them, making sure that the paint ran just right, making sure that they looked perfect. He’d deliberated over how to phrase it, but sometimes, simple was best. The biggest impact came with as little reading as possible. Usually, he avoided words, but this would have to suffice.

Standing up once more, Kenny stared at it and found himself smiling bitterly. “Just missing one thing, right?” he said aloud, pulling out the last stencil in his pocket. Carefully lining up the edges of the plastic, Kenny sprayed over it with the Purple before going in close and spraying the eyes with the yellow more carefully. Dragging the plastic away, Kenny smiled. Karen would have liked the addition of the cheshire cat, even with the bullet hole through his head and those big, haunting eyes. She’d always drawn the cheshire cat when she was younger, claiming that it reminded her of him.

_ Yeah, you’re right Kare, I would look better with a bullet between my ears. _

Or, he thought as he quickly tagged his finished masterpiece.  _ Maybe not. _

_ Transiential. _

He might not last forever, but he was going to make every fucking second count.

Quickly, before anything else could happen, Kenny ducked back out under the police tape, making sure that his hoodie was properly pulled up. If anyone had seen him, they wouldn’t say a word. But they hadn’t, he would have known. And that was how he was going to keep it. For now, he wanted to get home.

_ Some dry clothes would be nice too… _

))))-((((

It was amazing how terrifying a blow dryer could be.

Dropping the thing for a fourth time as it’s stream of hot air almost burned his scalp for what felt like the millionth time, Tweek let out a cry of frustration and glared at the offending object as if by doing so he could finally bend it to his will. Unfortunately, it just roared at him, and he was forced to dive for it once more in an attempt to subdue it and finally get his sopping wet hair dry.

There was a sudden howl as somewhere in the apartment, a door was opened to the outside, letting in a torrent of sound as the outside did its best to get inside. Letting out a shriek, Tweek tumbled backwards, unplugging the dryer and smacking his head against the pile of towels that Craig had left there to be put away. Dizzy, whimpering as the quickly cooling hairdryer almost burned his fingers, Tweek simply stared up the ceiling as he prayed that it wasn’t some serial killer come to murder him.

_ What an end, jesus, I hope they don’t put that in the obituary. _

“I’m home.”

Well, that wasn’t the voice of a killer. Unless Craig Tucker had suddenly decided that his sewing needles belonged in other people’s necks instead of in his dresses. But Tweek had long since gotten over his fear that his roommate might break down from all the stress and go crazy. He was pretty sure that he’d survive. Mostly. Especially when he actually remembered to take his meds and his paranoia didn’t strangle him to death.

“Ngh- D-don’t get water everywhere!” Tweek called back, struggling back to his feet and just carrying the stupid hair dryer with him. Unlike the blond, who had been forced to run home in the rain after his umbrella had been turned inside out, Craig had a car, and therefore wasn’t soaking wet. Which was a good thing, because Tweek had cleaned up enough pools of water for one day. You never knew what was in that rain water, and in a filthy place like Chicago Tweek was convinced that the water just dried as mud.

Looking his friend up and down, Tweek noted the several zipped up dress carriers and whimpered. Noting the man’s distress, Craig calmly said, “It’s only two of them. The third one isn’t due till tuesday.” As if that made it much better. Thankfully though, or perhaps inevitably, Craig hung them up on what was supposed to be the coat rack so he could patiently take the blow dryer from Tweek’s shivering hands and walk towards the couch, which was haphazardly pressed up against the wall.

Following him, Tweek said, “I got your message man -rrr- don’t worry about dinner, we have leftovers and stuff.” Bending over, Craig plugged in the blowdryer and caught the back of Tweek’s dry sweater so he could pull the boy over and methodically start to do what Tweek had been so unsuccessful at before. Simply allowing his roommate to dry his hair, relaxing under Craig’s fingers combing out his hair, Tweek fell silent and let his twitches subside slightly.

It was a habit they’d carried with them since childhood, Craig running his fingers through Tweek’s hair to calm him down. There had been a while there were Tweek had wondered if all of those little things that calmed him down meant he had feelings for the Noirette, but over the years, and after several long conversations with him, he’d realized that he valued Craig as a friend more than he ever would as a boyfriend. Miraculously, perhaps, Craig felt the same way about it. Sure they’d hooked up a couple times during their college days when they’d both been figuring their shit out, but that was it. Nothing had come from it, and they’d both prefered things that way.

Things like this though, Craig’s casual care for Tweek’s general well being and the blond’s ability to make sure his friend didn’t forget to do things like eat or drink water or not work himself to death, they were normal and helpful. More like they we brothers than anything. It meant that Tweek could allow himself to close his eyes and relax against the feeling of Craig’s hands working through his hair without his paranoia or fear of screwing up cropping up. Craig, after all, was the closest thing to family that he’d ever had.

Once his hair was finally dry and the man above him had unplugged the dryer, Tweek shook himself out of his daze and ducked out from under Craig’s hands. Hurrying over towards their tiny kitchen, Tweek riflled through the refriderator and pulled out the bowl of soup he’d set aside for Craig. “I’ll eat it later,” the Noirette called over, already heading back for the dresses. “I’ve got to finish these.” Knowing it was a lost cause, Tweek put the food back and followed the man towards the one office that they supposedly shared.

In reality, the entire thing had been taken up by Craig’s things. Tweek after all, only used a closet to develop his film, but Craig’s sewing machines and projects needed a little more space. Folding himself into the one spare chair in the room and tucking his legs under him, the blond shivered and watched as Craig pulled out the first dress, a pale blue thing that made him click his tongue and let out a long, low breath.

“So how was work?” Craig asked Tweek in his typically flat voice as he sat down at his work stool and instantly hunched over the dress. Watching as his fingers flew over his various threads, hardly even having to glance up as he grabbed three of them and compared them, Tweek organized his own thoughts of his day into a semi cohesive narrative before he spoke.

“It was fine, until w-we got rained on,” Tweek told the man, the soft purr of Craig’s sewing machine, which to be honest was almost magically quiet, filling the spaces in between his words. Giggling squeakily, Tweek admitted, “My first client was really sad that there was no rain, b-because she thought it would be prettier if there was rain, but I was glad that it wasn’t raining. Except then it s-started to pour.”

“Shit, is your camera okay?” Craig asked, his even words still managing to convey some worry. Tweek managed a twitchy smile at that.

“It’s water resistant man, remember?” Tweek asked, shivering. Hugging his knees, he continued, “B-but it’s not entirely water proof, and oh god, I still had that later client that wanted pictures by the waterfront with her wife and -rrr- that was so much pressure!!” Tugging on his hair with a hand, Tweek continued, “And it was raining really bad at that point, and they still wanted pictures, and I was scared that my camera was going to get ruined, so th-then I did that one thing that you suggested and just duct taped my umbrella to my back so I c-could take pictures. Jesus, I looked so stupid!”

“It probably wasn’t that bad,” Craig softly reassured him, his attention mostly focused on his work. “Were they okay to you?” It was funny how much the Noirette felt the need to protect Tweek in little ways. Even though Tweek wasn’t worried that he’d do anything to the blond’s more terrible customers, the man sure liked to suggest that he wanted to.

Shifting in his seat, Tweek admitted, “Th-the second two were pretty alright, but the first one was terrible!!” Tugging on his hair harder, the man insisted, “I t-tried so hard to make her happy and she just kept yelling at me! Man, what am I supposed to do with people like that?!”

“Ruin their pictures,” Craig answered blandly. That was what really clued Tweek into the man’s exhaustion. Usually, even if his voice didn’t change, he’d get irritated that anyone had messed with Tweek. Right now, he was just pulling the pins out of the dress he was working on like he was a robot and couldn’t think past getting his work done.  _ When was the last time he slept?? Oh Christ, what if he dies from not sleeping? Can that happen? _

“No -ghn- GOD I can’t do that!!” Twitching, Tweek yanked on his hair in an attempt to calm down. “Th-they wouldn’t pay me, and then I’d get in trouble for doing things like that, and then no one would hire me, and then I’d probably  _ die!!” _ It was a legitimate fear.

“Okay,” was Craig’s only tired answer. Nibbling on his lip, Tweek wondered what had happened that had gotten the man so down. Other than the recording he’d sent, which had contained the usual rant about idiots, he couldn’t think of anything.  _ Eventually, he’s going to just collapse under it all. I can’t let that happen. _

“Don’t worry about it,” he mumbled, even though he doubted Craig had the energy to worry much. “I can h-handle them just fine. And Kyle said he’d take anyone that was -rrr- really bad!” Thinking of the sharp, redheaded man, Tweek found his face growing warm. Slapping it, trying to make the flush go away, Tweek quickly squeaked, “He’s really scary when he w-wants to be! And they won’t mess with him.”

“That’s good,” Craig told Tweek, his fingers flying over the dress he was working on. To be honest, no matter how long he spent around the Noirette, Tweek just couldn’t understand what he was doing. Now, that wasn’t to say he didn’t ask, but Craig seemed rather self-conscious of talking about his craft. Which was a shame, because Tweek babbled on almost incessantly about his photography. Craig claimed to enjoy it, but the blond had his doubts.

Holding up the hem and examining it with a trained eye, the man asked, “So about meeting Kyle…”

“JESUS MAN IT ISN’T LIKE THAT!!!” Tweek squawked, his face reddening in an instant. “W-we’re just friends!”

“Just friends,” Craig repeated, finally glancing over at Tweek so he could raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Right.”

Tugging his hair down over his face, Tweek let out a consternated sound and moaned, “D-don’t make fun of me Craig.”

The Noirette snorted. “I’m not making fun of you dude, I want you to be happy.” That was Craig for you, always worried about the blond finding something good, never particularly caring about himself or the fact that he hardly ever seemed to have reason to smile. It was worrying to Tweek, he hated it. At first, he’d been ridiculously selfish, letting Craig fuss over him and not fighting the constant concern. But as he’d gotten older, he’d started to realize how destructive the man’s behavior was and attempted at every opportunity to correct it.

As was clear at that moment, it wasn’t really working.

“You mentioned coming with me to take pictures,” Tweek ventured, his eyes traveling over the other two unfinished dresses, one of which apparently had to be done by the next day. “I mean gha! I know you’re really busy r-right now, but I think that you might actually have fun and stuff.” Okay, that was possibly stretching the truth, but if he could help Craig get out of the house and or the dress shop then he would.

“After this week maybe,” Craig said vaguely, though Tweek could easily pick out the defeated  _ if I actually have time, _ in the man’s words.  _ When was the last time he even had a day off?? Jesus, he doesn’t even get weekends, he’s just always working, he’s going to die! _

“D-didn’t you say that you were s-supposed to have a day off soon?” Tweek asked tentatively, nibbling on his lip. He wanted to just say something, but he hated being blunt, so this roundabout way of questioning would have to do. Unfortunately, at the mention of a day off, Craig sighed again and his shoulders slumped.

“Tomorrow, supposedly,” Craig admitted, turning back to his work table and picking at beading on the back of it. “But Bebe is short several people, and I told her to call me if she needs me.” Which, in Tweek’s experience, was as good as entirely forfeiting his free day. Worrying, Tweek tugged on his hair lightly, trying despite himself to reason a way out of this for Craig.

“It’s fine dude,” Craig said easily, turning and managing a soft smile. “I’ll survive. I can’t just let her run herself into the ground after all.”  _ You could, _ Tweek almost said, but he knew that wasn’t true. They’d been friends with Bebe for beyond years. Heck, Tweek had known her since before time was even a concept he’d understood. The three of them had grown up together, and at this point, Craig honestly  _ couldn’t _ just abandon her. If they were going to go down, they’d go down together.

It left Tweek frustrated, because of the three of them, he’d been the only one who hadn’t gone into sewing.  _ I can’t even help them, I hate this. _ And Craig’s heart, which most people might have described as cold, was honestly just too big for his own good. There was a reason he acted like he didn’t care, and it was because once he got invested in something, he just cared too much. Tweek, who was naturally more generally kind hearted to everyone, would never have been able to fully throw himself into things like Craig did, he was too wary of the risks.

Which is why Craig was willing to run himself into the ground, whereas if Token, Tweek’s boss, had told the blond to keep the hours that Craig did, he would have told the man to stuff it. Or words to that effect. Because he had a variety of lines, whereas Craig had the friendship one and then nothing past that.

“I only have one client tomorrow,” Tweek said, shivering slightly. “If you or Bebe need  _ anything, _ y-you can just call me, okay?” It wouldn’t be the first time he’d run emergency food to Craig, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. Besides, it was the least he could do for them.

Craig just nodded tiredly and swiftly began to hand stitch something on the dress, entirely engrossed. Though he wanted to offer Craig  _ something _ to eat or drink, because he highly doubted the man had consumed anything all day, Tweek knew that Craig would just deny it.  _ I always spill it, _ Craig would say, before turning back to his word.

_ As if that’s any excuse for running yourself into the ground. _

But there was only so much he could do.

“I have t-to go get the film developing,” Tweek told Craig at last, after a few moments of silence.

“Yeah, alright,” Craig said.

Nervously, Tweek slipped out of the chair and crept out of the room, hoping that someday, Craig might actually get some sleep, before he dropped dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *finger guns* here's to you guys. I hope that it makes you smile, cause it calmed me down to write it.


	4. Pococurantical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Pococurantical_ **
> 
> po·co·cu·ran·tic·al \ ˈpō-kō-kyu̇-ˈran-tik-ôl\  
>  _adjective_
> 
>  **Definition**  
>  1\. Showing indifference, or apathetic nonchalance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, listening to your voice is inspiring Coru~ You're really cool.
> 
> Also, Angel, you can bet your ass that I'll add those stories into this if you'll let me.
> 
> To everyone, ENJOY!

Heidi had a very specific set of priorities when it came to what she liked showing up on her phone. The first of those things was any message from her beloved wife, Bebe, the second was any message pertaining to the elusive tagger Transiential.

So when she was awoken at four in the morning from a sharp buzz from her phone, Heidi could hardly contain the squeal she let out.

“Ohlerd,” Bebe mumbled from the pillows beside Heidi, already burrowing back down deeper into the covers. “Really Heids? It’s too early for this.” She accompanied her words with hands that grabbed for Heidi, dragging her back down into the bed. “Sleeeeepp,” the tousled explosion of blond curls insisted, warm mocha eyes catching on Heidi’s gray ones imploringly.

“But they struck again!” Heidi exclaimed, practically pulling Bebe onto her lap as she pushed herself upright in bed and quickly scanned the messages. “Oh fuck, this is a good one babe, they really went all out this time. While it was raining? That’s dedication right there.”

“The only thing you should be dedicating is more time to me,” Bebe mumbled, clinging to Heidi’s waist so she could drift off to sleep on the woman’s stomach. Running her hands through Bebe’s bedhead absently as she stared at the dark and grainy pictures that had been taken of the new art so far, the brunette felt her excitement grow.  _ I’ve got to get a call out to Ky, he’ll be able to get a kick-ass photo of that for me. _

“You’re the one who abandons me day in and day out so you can hole yourself up in that dress shop,” Heidi chided, flicking Bebe’s nose, making the woman moan in dismay.

“It’s prom season,” Bebe insisted in return, wiggling until she was fully stretched out between Heidi’s legs. “You know that I have to be there. Otherwise things will fall apart.”

Setting aside her phone so she could pull Bebe up and hook a finger under her chin, Heidi raised an eyebrow and said, “Well, right now Transiential just left us another gift, and I’m not about to just sit here and let it get destroyed.” Bestowing a soft lingering kiss upon Bebe’s soft lips, Heidi said, “So I’m going to get up, and you’re going to get ready to go to  _ your _ work like a responsible human.”

“So mean,” Bebe complained, but the sleep cleared from her eyes and she slowly extricated herself from the remnants of tiredness. As she sat up and straddled Heidi so she could stretch luxuriously and work the kinks out of her neck, the woman asked, “What did they leave this time?”

Holding up her phone, Heidi displayed the artistically smeared Alice in Wonderland themed message. “Pretty pointed, huh?” Turning it back around so she could zoom in on the Cheshire cat that had been left seemingly to creep out of the manhole, Heidi murmured, “And right at the scene of a recent gang dispute too… They’re stepping up their game.”

“You’re obsessed,” Bebe informed her, wiggling around on Heidi’s lap in an attempt to straighten her nightgown. “I still think that we could manage to sleep for another hour or so, but if you’re so set on going out and getting pictures, then I suppose I can’t stop you.” It was a typical complaint of hers, one that Heidi understood to be honest. Sometimes, considering the hours that Bebe kept and Heidi’s tendency to drop everything and vanish at a moment’s notice, it felt like they were simply passing in the night. Retaliating against those uncomfortable feelings, Heidi lunged forward and hooked her wife around the neck, tackling her to the bed.

Digging in her elbows on either side of Bebe’s head so she could hold her body up, Heidi murmured with laughter and buried the sound in the blond woman’s neck. “You know I’m obsessed with you too,” the brunette reminded Bebe, the words brushing past the woman’s ear. Shivering, Bebe let out a breathless sound that made Heidi smirk.

“You’re ridiculous,” huffed Bebe, but Heidi could feel her cheeks heating up. “Just don’t get hurt or anything.”

“Only if you promise to get home before twelve,” Heidi countered, pressing little kisses against her wife’s jaw and throat teasingly, mostly because she knew Bebe wouldn’t even try to stop her.

“But work-” the helpless woman attempted to protest, only to be silenced with another kiss from Heidi.

“I can’t have you collapsing,” Heidi informed her. “I’m lucky that I’ve got a job that lets me support you when you need it, but I can’t take the place of some good old fashioned shuteye.” Kissing both of the girl’s eyelids to accent her point, Heidi backed off at let her wife catch her breath. “Just promise me you won’t stay up till past midnight tonight.”

“Promise,” Bebe mumbled, properly admonished. 

Satisfied, Heidi stroked the woman’s cheek softly and said, “It’s okay, you’re going to make it all work, I believe in you.”

“Well, with your vote of confidence, that makes one of us,” Bebe maundered gloomily.

Taking pity on her wife, aware at least to some degree of how much pressure was on her, Heidi said, “I’ll stop by after I get the new work processed and bring you lunch. Pip’s been handling a lot of the day to day paperwork the museum generates, so I’ll have some free time to drop by.” That brought a faint smile to Bebe’s face, one that Heidi felt more than saw.

“I know it’s not easy, but you always make it,” Heidi reminded Bebe softly. “Someday, you’re going to get some decent employees in there, and you’ll be flying, but until then-”

“I just have to keep going,” Bebe finished, nodding. For a moment, they just sat there in a comfortable silence, before Heidi’s phone lit up and buzzed once more, prompting the blond woman to playfully shove her wife away. “Go take care of your art projects,” she said, giggling. “We can talk later.”

“Well if you insist,” Heidi teased, but she still grabbed her phone and slipped out of bed, wandering out of their bedroom and into the hall. Pawing through her contacts, the brunette found the one she was looking for and pushed the call button.

For a moment, the sound of ringing filled the silence as she meandered down her stairs, then there was a crackle of a great many things being shifted all at once and a grumpy voice came through her speakers.  _ “What kind of bullshit is this supposed to be?” _

“Ky!” Heidi responded brightly, dragging a hand through her own bedhead. “I wasn’t sure you’d pick up, I would have thought you were the type to just throw your phone across the room.”

Her snark was not received well.  _ “Why the hell are you calling me at four thirty-six in the morning?” _

“Hey,” Heidi defended, grinning at Kyle’s typically testy attitude. “No one said that you had to leave your phone on. I would have been perfectly happy with just leaving a message.”

_ “Yeah right,” _ Kyle spat. Rather than be put off by the man’s rough behavior, Heidi just beamed at the window, which was letting in the rays of early dawn sunlight.  _ “So what do you need?” _

“Transiential left us another calling card,” Heidi said, a grin stretching her face.

_ “Oh fuck- Okay, I’m listening,” _ Kyle said instantly, just as the brunette had predicted. If there was one person who shared her obsession with this whole matter, it was Kyle. He’d been chasing Transiential since New Orleans where the artist had got their start, and Heidi had joined in eagerly once they’d moved to Chicago. Together, they’d gathered more evidence and information on this matter than anyone else, and the museum that Heidi ran, while it did contain a great deal of exactly what you’d expect, also had the largest collection of art by this Urban artist anywhere in the world. Yes, it was a little out of hand, but no, Heidi didn’t care.

“It’s a Wonderland piece, where that shooting took place. Very psychedelic.” Putting the phone on speakerphone so she could text Kyle the pictures that had been taken so far, Heidi continued, “I want your lens on this stuff. You know I don’t trust anyone else to get me a perfect image.”

There was a moment of radio silence, no doubt while Kyle looked at what she’d sent him. Whistling low, the man said,  _ “Yeah, alright, I’ll be there. But not at balls o’clock in the morning Turner, I’d have to wait around for the sun to be in the right place way too long to make it worth my while.” _ Nodding, even though she couldn’t see him, Heidi started structuring her day around the matter. She’d want to be there as soon as possible, and people would expect her to be there. After all, someone had to be the expert.

“As long as you’re there at some point Ky, you know how quick this will get covered.” Tapping a finger against the windowsill, Heidi reminded the redhead, “The mayor’s been cracking down on this stuff.”

She could practically hear Kyle grit his teeth together.  _ “Stotch is an asshole when he’s not being an angel.” _ He made a good point, though she would have been tentative to accuse Leopold Stotch of anything other than a mild case of having too much heart for his own good. Covering up graffiti was kind of just a public service, it made sense that he’d be hard on it. That being said, it was horribly inconvenient.  _ “Let’s hope that you can ward those  _ public servants _ off.” _

“Well, you know me, if there’s one thing I can do it’s be intimidating,” Heidi said, cracking a smile. Unexpectedly, warm arms snaked around her waist and Heidi instinctively leaned back into Bebe’s hold, resting her head on the shorter girl’s shoulder. “I’ll keep them at bay. Don’t rush anything, it’ll be there when you get down to the scene of the crime.” Her smile twisted into something a little more rueful. “Literally.”

_ “If that’s the case, then excuse me while I get some more fucking sleep,” _ Kyle quipped sharply, though Heidi caught the fondness behind his words.

“Love you too asshole,” Heidi said, before Kyle disconnected the call.

“What about me?” Bebe pouted, the smell of her shampoo filling the air around them.

“I love you most of all.”

))))-((((

_ BZZZZZZZZT~! _

Starting awake, Kenny tumbled out of his bed.

“Oh- Motherfucker!” 

Rubbing the back of his head, groaning under his breath, the sandy-blond man looked up at his phone, the thing that had awoken him, and grumbled under his breath, “Someday I’m going to throw you into the river.” Shaking the sleep out of his eyes, Kenny pawed the damn device off of us table and stared at the screen. It took him a moment to process what he was seeing, but once he did, he groaned again.

_ Is it really already almost time to pay rent? Fuck, I don’t have the energy to deal with this. _ He never had the energy to deal with things like that, especially not at, what- Glaring at the clock on his screen, Kenny dragged a hand over his face. It was eight, how was it already eight? As always, his brain felt like a scrambled mess. After his midnight jaunt the evening previous, Kenny had spent way too long trying to dry off and warm up before he’d actually managed to feel asleep, meaning he was still exhausted, and he still had rent to pay.

Unfortunately, socially poignant street art didn’t pay well.

Staring at the phone for a moment longer, Kenny curled up once more on the floor and pretended like he’d get some more sleep before accepting that he wasn’t going to.  _ Do I ignore him, or do I text back? These are the real questions… _ Honestly, he had no desire to text back, so ignoring his irritating reality it was!

His phone buzzed again, and in retaliation, Kenny dragged himself to his feet, pulled a face at the electronic device, then stumbled out of his room. The apartment was unfortunately tiny, but to be honest he didn’t much care. It did what it needed to do, and that was all he expected of it.

When he’d been younger, living in a two room shithole down in New Orleans, he’d told Karen that someday they’d get a mansion, and she’d get a room all to herself. She’d sit on Kevin’s almost permanently empty bed and bounce a little as she said,  _ I don’t need a mansion Ken, I just want us to be happy! _ And then she’d grin from ear to ear, displaying the chipped tooth from when she’d fallen out of that window.

Karen had been a stubborn optimist, Kenny almost wished he could channel that unflagging joy, but his own inner peace had taken some hits. Without his sister around to push him to at least play at being happy most of the time, things had started to slip. He didn’t really care though, because it wasn’t like he had anyone to put on a show for. Just a few friends, emphasis on few, and himself when he actually bothered to glance into a mirror.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t very often considering he’d managed to shatter the only one he earned.  _ As if I need any more bad luck. _

Snorting at his own thoughts, Kenny wandered into the other room and stared at the spray cans littering the table.  _ I hope my project didn’t wash away.  _ If it had, it wasn’t really any skin off of his nose, he got what he’d get out of it by painting it in the first place, whether or not it would make a difference to anyone else was up to whoever found it. After the number of instances when he’d stared off where his art had been covered up almost instantly, he’d become good at not caring when the paintings never reached their intended audience. Disappointment was just sort of par the course with this kind of thing.

Sweeping some of the stensil scraps off of his table, Kenny glanced at the various ideas he had sketched out on the backs of bills he had yet to pay.  _ Just like Karen used to do. _ Unexpectedly, the thought brought a smile before it made him frown.  _ Yikes, looks like I need to get out of the house. Tired Kenny is depressing Kenny. _ Snorting at himself, the man wandered back into his bedroom and dug up clothing that didn’t have paint splatters on it before quickly changing and glancing back at his phone.  _ If I just leave it, I’ve got plausible deniability if the landlord shows up and tries to call me… Yeah, let’s go with that. _

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Kenny knew that after getting laid off from his last job, he needed to start looking for more work, but somehow it had ended up getting pushed to the back of his mind. At least he hadn’t been fired this time, but fuck, he just had bad luck when it came to work. Either he ended up in a crap job that drove him nuts, or something else happened that threw him back to square one. Eventually, he’d figure it out, but until then, he needed to suck it up and find somewhere new.

_ Maybe I can get another bartending job. Won’t be anything like New Orleans but is anything? _ Despite being all but driven out of that town, Kenny missed the place. Culture ran deeper there, grudges could be eternal, and no one cared about either once five pm rolled around. He’d loved the place, but Chicago was growing on him, despite all the problems that it had. Most importantly, it was a new start, and he’d needed that more than anything.

Grabbing his orange hoodie from where he’d hung it above the radiator to dry, Kenny shrugged into it and rolled his shoulders before settling the raggedy fur trim around his neck. He didn’t even have a plan for where he wanted to go, but he figured that he’d find somewhere eventually. Chicago never failed to find him, no matter how hard he tried to stay away from it. The city liked to throw things in his path. And maybe he’d find a new location for his next piece. Or perhaps he’d just find something else to occupy his time. Either way, he’d no doubt end up plenty busy.

Wandering out of his door, making sure to lock it behind him even though he knew locks were pretty useless around here, Kenny lazily sauntered down to the ground floor and outside into the Chicago morning. The air noncommittally ruffled his hair, pulling at his blond strands and teasing them like fingers. Leaning into the wind a little, Kenny closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before aimlessly turning left.

This had been a habit of his in both cities he’d lived in, just wandering around until he found a reason to stop wandering. Seeing as lost was only a relative term if you didn’t have a place to go in the first place, Kenny liked to think that he was never didn’t know where he was. He was exactly where he’d intended to end up, which was nowhere in particular, and as long as he didn’t get shot, then he’d be fine. Even then, he’d had some pretty close calls.

As people passed him, all intent on getting somewhere, Kenny stared at the streets, examined the walls, and remembered the thing he’d seen on the news the day before. Something about Mayor Leopold Stotch talking about how graffiti was just another sign that the place was  _ getting a lil’ dirty around th’ edges, y’know? _ It was hard to not like someone who talked like that, so earnest and sweet. Hell, Kenny had dubbed the man Butters because he was little more than butter once you got down to it, but his crackdown on graffiti definitely wasn’t making Kenny’s life easier.

One of the results had become almost irritatingly pristine walls, all with fresh layers of city-bought paint. It took away some of the character, in Kenny’s mind, but his view was clearly in the minority, and if it wasn’t then no one else was speaking out. Sure amateurs tended to leave crude symbols everywhere for fun, but most skilled taggers didn’t bother with that kind of thing. They created art, vandalism was lazy.

Unfortunately, to most people, it all looked the same, which is why he worked under the cover of night, praying that no one would catch him. He didn’t need to follow in his brother’s footsteps by landing his ass in jail. Not that graffitti usually carried that heavy a sentence, but considering how prolific he was, Kenny wasn’t going to take any chances.

Catching sight of several arguing people ahead of him, Kenny took a judicious turn into an alley and skirted around the overflowing trash cans with ease. He’d never much liked conflict, finding it more trouble that it was worth. In a fight, he could handle himself as well as anyone else and probably a whole lot better, but he didn’t like asking for trouble, he tended to get it for free whether he wanted it or not.

Mind drifting as it often did, Kenny wondered if perhaps tonight he’d call up his friend back in New Orleans. Was he still back there? Had he moved? Kenny hadn’t called him in a while. Despite Eric Cartman being a generally unpleasant person, Kenny enjoyed him, and he missed the man, who’d been one of his only friends back in the old city. According to Karen, he’d never had particularly good taste in friends, and he wasn’t going to disagree, because to be honest, most of the people he hung out with ended up being crazy in one way or another. That being said, he wasn’t the kind to drop people without reason, so he sort of just kept ending up with more strange people and no real desire to get rid of them.

But maybe he’d end up back on the streets with a can of paint and that familiar itch in his blood. That desire to change things that he could never quite get rid of. However it worked out, he’d probably have to spend tomorrow looking for a job or something. It was a morose thought, and he found himself sighing before turning at random and wandering down yet another alley. He had no problem with being a productive member of society, it was just disheartening to know that all his previous attempts had turned out horribly.

“I can’t  _ believe _ you’d fucking do this!!”

Oh fuck, well, looked like his peaceful stroll had just come to an end.

Flattening himself against the alley wall, Kenny looked around in confusion for a moment as he oriented himself. He’d managed to find himself in the nicer part of town, though considering everything was connected that wasn’t too surprising. The next thing he did was ascertain where the voices were coming from.  _ The window, _ he realized, darting a few paces down the alley so he could stare into the ground floor room and its occupants.

“Every single fucking time, you just come in like you think you’re a miracle worker and it pisses me off, this was  _ my _ job, you can’t just swoop in and take it from me!!”

Well, someone was upset. Crouching so that he wouldn’t be immediately visible, Kenny caught sight of a twenty something girl with her hair pulled into a severe ponytail and makeup practically caking her face. From what he could tell, she was holding up a frankly beautiful dress and was definitely not happy about it, for whatever reason. Though part of Kenny told him to just keep moving, because whoever he was spying on probably wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of someone overhearing them, the rest of him wanted to stay. He was a nosy motherfucker like that.

“Just because Bebe likes you doesn’t mean you fucking own the place, you don’t get to come and take the dresses that  _ I’m _ working on like that and  _ ruin _ them!!”

Well, from what he could see, it didn’t look ruined, but admittedly, Kenny was hiding behind a garbage can and therefore didn’t have a very good viewpoint. Maybe it was ruined and he just couldn’t see it. Still, no one really deserved to get yelled at like that.  _ Probably some young girl who doesn't know what they’re doing. _ That type was everywhere, and from the way this woman was talking down to whoever she was yelling at, the girl couldn’t be that skilled.

With the matter mostly figured out, Kenny started to straighten so he could move on. Not as interesting as he’d thought. Oh well, he’d find something else to-

“Jenny, I’m sorry, but it was due for a fitting and you hadn’t  _ touched _ it.”

_ Oh, that’s… Not a girl. _ Blinking several times, Kenny slowly revolved and stood so he could get a better view of what was going on. Though he still couldn’t see the male speaker, he was getting a better view of the room. Cramped was the first thought that ran through his head. Small, cluttered, and busy, like there were a million things going on in there at once. The next thing that caught his eye were the beautiful wedding gowns and brightly colored dresses that seemed to pop out of the very wallpaper. That didn’t look like the room of an ameture, not in the slightest.

“That still wasn’t your place to butt in!” Jenny all but shrieked, because yes, she was definitely shrieking. Even though the sandy blond wasn’t in the same room as the woman, he still cringed backwards and silently pitied the man who was being subjected to the berating. “The customer could damn well  _ wait, _ I was busy.”

A deep breath. “You know it doesn’t work like that.” The man’s voice was calm, flat, almost monotone, with just enough emotion to carry more kick than all the screeching in the world. “You had two weeks Jenny, Bebe gave you time. I wasn’t  _ trying _ to step on anyone’s toes here.” For someone who was getting yelled at, the man seemed remarkably collected. Kenny would have been sniping right back at this point, but maybe whoever it was had gotten used to this kind of treatment.  _ Well fuck, ain’t that just depressing. _

“Because of what  _ you _ did, I have to go back and redo the whole thing!” Jenny yelled. “What are you thinking, entirely changing what I had planned for this?! You couldn’t even be bothered to follow the fucking pattern that we left for you!” Biting his lip and wincing in sympathy for the man, Kenny frowned. He didn’t know shit about dresses, but-

“I was following the pattern that the girl  _ wanted,” _ the even voice insisted. Dancing around to the otherside of the trashcan, Kenny tried to get a better view of who he was listening to before Jenny’s eyes turned towards the window and he swore mentally before diving for the wall beneath the sill. “Yours was entirely different than what she asked for.”

“Well her ideas were garbage, and you carried them out horribly. This entire thing is complete shit.” Pressing himself to the wall, Kenny wished he had the ability to jump in. No one should have to get treated like that, no matter how badly they had messed something up. It was bullshit is what it was, but all he could do was listen and hope that Jenny went away so that the man she was berating didn’t snap.  _ Would he? I wonder if he’d show some emotion if he did…  _

“I’m sorry you don’t like it,” the man deadpanned tiredly, and Kenny could just  _ hear _ the defeat in his voice. It killed him, mostly because he’d been in that place before and he knew what it was like to deal with constant shit that seemed like it was your fault when it wasn’t. “You have a few days to fix it, if that’s what-”

“I can’t fix this pile of crap!” Jenny barked, almost like she couldn’t believe that the man would suggest such a thing. “My god, I can’t even look at it, your sewing is absolute shit, Bebe should fire you. We were  _ much _ happier before you showed up.”  _ Wow, talk about taking your problems out on someone else… _ But Kenny wasn’t her therapist, and he didn’t really feel like poking his head above the window sill and stepping in.

“What do you  _ want _ me to do?” the man asked, still entirely unruffled by her rude behavior.  _ No, what you do is tell her to get the fuck out and slam the door in her face. _ Oh wait, most people didn’t subscribe to the Kenny McCormick way of handling assholes.  _ Heh, even I don’t subscribe to it… _ But he wasn’t a role model, was he?

“Well at this point, I don’t know if it can be saved,” Jenny grumbled, pissy as all hell. “But since you were so  _ eager _ to steal my projects, feel free to finish it, asshole.” There was the sound of what was probably beading clattering against the floor before Jenny slammed the door hard enough to shake the whole building. For a moment there was silence, and then the man inside the room let out a soft, slow breath that sounded more like a sigh than anything else.

Sitting there, still almost in a state of curious shock, Kenny blinked and fought the urge to whistle through his teeth. Well, that had happened. He hoped that the soft-spoken man wasn’t too upset, someone that calm didn’t deserve the stress that had almost been foisted onto him. Again he was tempted to peak his head up and see who it was, but he quelled that thought.  _  I should probably just leave… _

“Just pick up, come on-” At the return of that voice however, Kenny settled back down and kept listening.  _ I wonder who he’s calling. The boss, cause that’s what I’d do after a shitty experience like that. _ Not that Kenny had ever had a good relationship with any of his bosses, but he could hope. “Fuck, why do you always-” a short sigh, then silence.

Well, whoever it was, they were apparently busy.

“Captain’s log, 148.” Oh hello, this was interesting. Tipping his head up, Kenny listened as the man continued, “Star date… Fuck, still haven’t hung the calendar back up.”  _ Star date? Pffft, nerd. _ Clearing his throat, Starboy, as Kenny had decided to call the man a second ago, continued, “Well, my day off is going just great. I guess you’re dealing with that one client you mentioned, that’s alright. At least you’ll be out of there early and back home.”

_ Girlfriend maybe? _ “I dunno dude, I mean, I knew that I was still going to get called in today, but I didn’t think I’d have to be dealing with that.”  _ Oh, so… Boyfriend. _ Or maybe friend? Kenny wasn’t sure why he was trying to figure out so much from a simple voicemail message that Starboy was leaving, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. “Fuck, Jenny is unbelievable, but I did kind of take the prom dress she was working on, so I guess it’s my fault.”

Frowning, not particularly liking that self-defeating tone in the man’s voice, Kenny furrowed his brows. Well, that wasn’t fair, he’d only been trying to clean up someone else’s mess. That was a good thing. Even if he hadn’t done it exactly how this Jenny girl wanted, he’d  _ done it. _ Which honestly just sounded responsible to Kenny, but who was he to judge?

“Fuck, I’ve already had to finish four dresses today, and I have at least five more.” Starboy mumbled something under his breath before adding, “And now I have Jenny’s dress to finish because she doesn’t want to. Surprise surprise. Fuck, I’m too tired for this shit.” Kenny was nodding along to the last statement before he stopped and stared at the wall in front of him with wide eyes.  _ Nine fucking dressing in one day? Who the fuck is this? Can you even  _ do _ that much work in one day? I thought things like this took longer? _

“But I bet there will be more that I have to do because guess what, Millie’s still out.” Another sigh. “I’m sorry that I screwed up this day off, I was planning on cooking for you, but I just… I’ve got to help Bebe. She doesn’t deserve to get locked in here with these women.”  _ So definitely boyfriend, _ Kenny decided, momentarily pushing the mindblowing amount of work Starboy was dealing with out of his mind. “Thanks for putting up with me, but seriously dude, you need a better roommate.”  _ So not boyfriend? Jesus Starboy, make up your mind, you’re confusing me here. _

There was a long pause, and for a moment Kenny wondered if the man was done talking, but then he heard an awkward clearing of the throat before Starboy said, “Fuck, it really is shit, isn’t it?” There was a shifting of material, and Kenny could only guess that the man was holding up the dress that Jenny had thrown at him. “I just- I thought I could improve it. Maybe I was wrong.” Another sigh. “I’m trying here, but I don’t know, sometimes I think that I’m just screwing it all up.”

_ You’re putting together ten dresses a day, or at least fixing them, and you think you’re screwing it all up? Hell, I wish I had my life together that much. _ Determined to at least see what was going on, Kenny ducked out from under the window and stood against the wall opposite so he could get the clearest possible view inside. What he saw made his breath catch yet killed him at the same time.

Just as he’d figured before, the dress was nothing short of beautiful. There wasn’t any obvious problems with it, at least none that Kenny’s untrained eye could see. In fact, it was perfect. With intricate beading and shimmering red material and lace, it was far more detailed than anything that the sandy-blond had ever seen before.

But what hurt was the defeated slump of the man’s shoulders. He was tall, probably would have been even more so if he hadn’t been slouching so tiredly. With a hat pulled down over his hair and a ratty blue hoodie on, he didn’t  _ look _ like he belonged in a dress shop, but Kenny could tell from just a quick once over of the room he stood in that he definitely belonged there.  _ How on earth did you get it into your head that what you’re making is shit, Starboy? That’s miraculous is what it is. _

“I’m going to be here until late. Don’t worry, I remembered my key, but make sure to close your door, because I’ll probably be home after twelve, and I don’t want to wake you up.” Kenny felt tired just hearing that. Watching the man bend over the sewing table and hang his head, the sandy-blond almost wanted to say something, but then he stopped himself.  _ No, don’t act like a total creep, this is already weird enough. _

“I’ve… I’ve talked long enough. I need to get working before Jenny shows up to yell at me again. Bebe gave me one of the dresses that she’d been working on. Maybe I should give it back before she notices and gets pissed again… Whatever, I’ll figure it out on my own.” Starboy cleared his throat, then muttered, “I guess I’ll see you later dude,” before sighing and sinking back into his chair.

“Fuck…” he mumbled, the word carrying all the emotion that his flat voice seemed to be able to show. “What am I even fucking doing?”

_ You’re working miracles. _

And suddenly, Chicago showed up and knocked on Kenny’s door and told him exactly what he was going to do today. Or rather, what he was going to do tonight.

Mind already turning the idea over and over in his mind, Kenny made a note of where he was before slipping away once more. He’d be back later, for now, he had some planning to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, time to dissect an eyeball


	5. Trenchant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **Trenchant**  
>  _
> 
>  
> 
> tren·chant \ˈtren(t)-SHənt \  
>  _Adjective_
> 
>  **Definition**  
>  1: keen, sharp  
> 2 : vigorously effective and articulate - a _trenchant analysis_  
>  3 (a) : sharply perceptive : penetrating a _trenchant_ view of current conditions  
>  (b) : clear-cut, distinct
> 
>  
> 
> __"The trenchant divisions between right and wrong"_ —Edith Wharton_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I feel like I'm going to throw up.
> 
> Cori, you are beautiful and magical in every way.
> 
> Angel, I'm so glad that I know you, you brighten my life.
> 
> So enjoy~

Kyle had never been particularly good at figuring out how to deal with people. Generally, most of them confused him. They acted illogically and got upset over stupid things while hardly caring about the important ones. Sure he’d had years to figure them out, but it was a constant struggle. It didn’t help that they pissed him off more often than not. Which in turn made him unpleasant, which led to further bullshit… It was kind of just a vicious cycle, really.

He’d gravitated towards the profession of photography because, unlike people, cameras didn’t argue back. Also, stupidity was a lot easier to handle when you had a lens between you and whoever was being stupid. Put together, these things had significantly cut down on the amount of time he spent trying to understand people at all. Truly a blessing.

And he was honestly getting better at piecing together why people acted like they did, but there was still one person who baffled him so completely, Kyle wasn’t sure what to do.

That person was Tweek Tweak.

Incidentally, this was the same person who was tucked into the passenger’s seat of Kyle’s car, bouncing slightly with nervous energy as he tried to look at  _ everything _ except for the man driving. The redhead found the whole thing frustrating, and he didn’t even know why. No matter how long he spent with Tweek, no matter how many times he’d talked to the blond in the year that he’d been living in Chicago, the man still acted terrified of Kyle most of the time.

And okay yes, Kyle yelled a bit sometimes, but he was getting better at it. The way Tweek acted, you would have thought Kyle was actively trying to kill him or something, always getting extremely twitchy and on edge when he so much as walked into a room. It really did get on the redhead’s nerves, mostly because he didn’t usually make an effort to be this nice to people, and when he did, his efforts weren’t usually turned away so firmly.  _ It’s like he expects the worst of me. _

Except if Tweek had just straight out pushed him away then Kyle would have stopped trying, but the blond spent half of the time acting like he honestly wanted to be the man’s friend. That was something that Kyle wanted because Tweek, for all of his tics and weirdness, could be pretty fun once he stopped screaming. But that was the problem, Kyle still hadn’t figured out  _ how _ to make Tweek stop yelling, and so most of their decent conversations had occurred quite by accident and he couldn’t seem to replicate them.

Which is how Kyle had only asked once and Tweek had instantly agreed to go with him, but now that they were on the road, the blond seemed unable to say a thing.

Irritated an unable to do anything about it, the man growled at the slow moving traffic and muttered, “Bullshit, it’s like you guys have nowhere to be. Do you fucking make a point of blocking every street? Assholes.” As he finally made it to the light only to have someone pull in front of him, a totally illegal move might he add, effectively blocking his path, Kyle gave up and hit his horn. The resulting sound made Tweek let out a shriek and jump. The motion threw him against his seatbelt only to toss him back into his seat.

Rolling his eyes, Kyle finally got the chance to drive through the intersection and counted it as a minor victory. As soon as they were back to crawling behind traffic once more, the man tossed another glance at Tweek only to find him pressed up against the door of the car like he was trying to melt into the upholstery.

“Good fucking-” Snapping around so he could stare at Tweek, Kyle asked, “What’s wrong?”  _ I’m not going to murder you, _ he almost added, before biting his tongue and holding the words back.  _ I’ve known you for a full year, why are you acting like this? _

“I-I think I should have stayed behind,” Tweek squeaked in a strangled voice. “I d-don’t belong here.” Which was funny because it had been Tweek who had originally said that he didn’t want Kyle to leave him behind.

“Of course you fucking-” Another asshole nudged their way into Kyle’s lane and he had to resist every impulse in his body in order to not blow the horn again. “You are such a piece of fucking shit, fuck you!” he yelled at the person in front of them, as if they could hear.

In response to this outburst, Tweek screamed. Frustrated, Kyle yelled back at the blond.

“AUGH!!!”

“AHHHHH!”

“JESUS WHY ARE YOU YELLING?!?” Tweek screeched.

“I DON’T KNOW BECAUSE YOU ARE!!!” Kyle shouted right back.

“OH GOD I’M S-SORRY!!!” The blond’s hands flew to his hair and pulled hard.

Jerking the car back into movement as traffic moved, Kyle snapped, “Stop fucking apologizing for bullshit that you didn’t even do.” His face was bright red with exertion, and he rubbed at it, wishing that he’d either gotten more sleep the night before, or quite possibly gotten a new life entirely.

“B-but I’m being weird and annoying and you hate it,” Tweek protested pathetically. Well, there was definitely something that Kyle hated, but it wasn’t those things in particular.  _ Only Tweek would be able to misconstrue things this entirely. How did he ever survive through fourth grade without having a heart attack. _

“Look-” Puffing out a breath, struggling to keep his calm, Kyle bluntly said, “I’m pissed off because you act like you’ve done something wrong every single moment that I’m around you. If you did something then just fucking tell me because I haven’t had enough sleep to deal with this right now.”

“I didn’t do  _ anything!” _ Tweek protested in a strangled voice, twitching as he did.

“So stop acting like I’m going to strangle you,” Kyle stated. “Just  _ sit there, _ I’m not going to bite your head off.”

“W-why not?” Tweek asked, for whatever forsaken reason.

“Do you want me to?” Kyle asked, peeved.

“Jesus no!” Tweek exclaimed instantly.

“Then don’t act like you do. Because I don’t _want_ to yell at you. I don’t usually yell at you.” Irate, but mostly with himself at this point, Kyle ground his teeth together and said, I’m sorry, I just got woken up at four in the morning today and I really _fucking hate_ _traffic.”_

“You know you could turn here and -ghn- still get to Seventh street,” Tweek said abruptly, his fingers strangling each other. “I mean, you said that’s where you w-wanted to go, and god, this way  _ always _ takes forever if you’re trying to go at rush hour!”

Staring at the blond man, Kyle asked, “Why the fuck didn’t you say something before?” When Tweek let out a squeak, Kyle muttered, “Whatever, let’s get out of here.” Then he was turning and leaving the traffic jam behind as he headed down the street Tweek had pointed to.

“Ngh- I f-forgot that you don’t know this place as well as I do,” Tweek admitted, nervously. Kyle wondered if the man ever said anything confidently. Probably not. That pissed him off, though not because of Tweek. More because of the shitty situation that made someone so damn insecure.

“I should bring you more often,” Kyle puffed, eyes focused on the road once more. For once, Tweek didn’t make a sound and Kyle glanced up at his rear view mirror, managing to catch a flash of the man’s face. It was bright red.  _ I don’t get him one fucking bit. _

The whole reason he’d brought Tweek along, or they’d even had to have the conversation in the first place, was because Tweek’s client today was the Brandt family of twelve, and Kyle wasn’t about to subject the blond man to those people for any length of time alone. They were not only oppressively religious, but also just too fucking nice, which was kind of frightening. Why they’d decided to assign them to Tweek when Kyle usually dealt with them was beyond the boy, but whatever, he supposed it didn’t matter. He was going with Tweek, so it would probably turn out fine.

Deciding to change the subject, because the silence was getting a little awkward, Kyle said, “So what do you know about Transiental?” Other than what he’d accidentally waxed poetic about, of course. As if Kyle’s words had shaken the man’s brain loose, Tweek jolted back into the present and stared at him.

“Th-they’re the Graffiti artist you’re obsessed with,” the blond rattled off, like he’d memorized the fact. “And you’ve been after them for ages, but you’ve never found them, and you’re convinced that you’re going to find them here even though they’re -rrr- really good at getting away with this.” Eyes widening, Tweek suddenly slapped a hand over his mouth and yelled through his fingers,  _ “Jesus why did I say that!?” _

Unexpectedly, Kyle found his surprise giving way to chuckling.  _ Wow, I really do talk about this a lot. _ “I- Yeah, that’s exactly who they are.” Wrinkling his nose, the man corrected, “Well, that’s how I’m connected to them. They’re far more influential than anything I could ever be.” Turning his head towards Tweek briefly, Kyle asked, “So have you ever actually seen their art?”

Sheepishly, the blond admitted, “Ngh- no.” Jumping, almost like this was something to be ashamed over, the man hurried to say, “I mean, I don’t have anything against it, it’s just I’ve never seen it before and I never really found the time and why would I be looking at art in the first place that’s  _ way _ too much time to spend on something like that when everything is literally falling apart and oh god I’ll just shut up now!!”

“No, Tweek-” Kyle sighed shortly and shook his head. “Look, their art is really fucking influential around here. Not only are they a skilled artist, but they read the streets, they know what people are saying, and they put it into art so well, it’s almost miraculous.” Realizing that he was having trouble keeping his hands on the steering wheel as his talking grew more animated, Kyle cleared his throat and said, “Basically, he calls people out on their bullshit in ways they can’t ignore. You’ll see when we get there.”

Bobbing his head, Tweek mumbled, “Oh,” before facing forward. Naturally, as with any silence involving Tweek, it didn’t last long. “So  _ why _ do you keep following Transiential?”

Freezing up for a moment at how easily the man’s question dug into his brain, Kyle forced himself to tersely say, “Let’s just leave it at they caught my eye when I was young and impressionable.” That was a serious mischaracterization of the situation, if not a bold faced lie, but just because he was tentative friends with the nervous blond didn’t mean he had to be entirely honest.

If Tweek caught his momentary strangeness, he didn’t mention it. Luckily for Kyle, there wasn’t really an opportunity for the man to bring it up anyway because a moment later they were pulling into a derelict parking lot nearby their destination and the redhead was turning off the engine before unlocking the doors. “Come on,” he said shortly, swinging his way out of the driver’s side and leaning into the back seat so he could gather together the equipment he’d need. “We’ve got to introduce you to his art somehow.”

Pulling Tweek’s door open when the man didn’t move, Kyle rolled his eyes impatiently and leaned over the blond, unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling him out, even as Tweek struggled to do these things on his own. Sure he could have waited, but Kyle really hated waiting and at times, Tweek could be frustratingly slow. Eventually, the redhead won out and got the other man successfully out of the car and started walking towards the large crowd of people that had once been nothing but a cordoned off area of police tape. Tweek twitched nervously at the sight, but Kyle ignored him in favor of pulling him closer.

_ I should have known they’d hit this area, it was big enough to catch their attention, obviously. _ Cursing his relative shortness as he tried to see over the heads of the people already there, the photographer finally let out a snort of exasperation and started elbowing his way through. This meant that he was also dragging Tweek through a crowd of people, and the blond definitely wasn’t enjoying that. Around him, there was the clamoring of people talking, newscasters talking, and reporters taking notes, but Kyle just tuned them all out. He had a mission, and no one was going to get in his way.

Thankfully, once he got to the front of the crowd, he found just the person he wanted to see.

Heidi was trying to fend off two journalists at once and was doing a surprisingly good job of it. “I don’t know hun, but when I see someone spray paint ‘to wonderland’ at the scene of a shooting, I assume that whoever was behind it is upset, wouldn’t you?”

“But why are they doing it?” the other reporter asked, his phone held up to record everything that was said. Shoving it into Heidi’s personal space, he insisted, “They still haven’t come out and given clear opinions, how are we supposed to know anything if all art is subjective?”

“Richard, if you don’t get that thing out of my face, I will break it,” Heidi snapped, whipping around. “For your information, art is not entirely subjective, sometimes paintings hold objective truths that you can’t play off as opinion and this is one of those times.”

As the other reporter swooped in to attack with another question, Kyle saw his chance and elbowed his way through the two irritating people so he could stand before Heidi. “Doing a  _ great _ job of keeping the press at bay,” Kyle said in an unimpressed deadpan.

Rolling her eyes, Heidi riposted, “Well for your information, everyone and their mother likes to cover these stories, so I’d love to see you do better.” The conversation was their usual banter, comfortable and just a little pointed. No matter how long they went between seeing each other face to face, it seemed like they were always able to just pick up the threads of the conversation regardless of situation.

As if to back this up, the woman smiled and told him in a much more friendly tone, “I’m glad you’re here Ky, you’re really going to like this one.” Expression shifting, Heidi chose to then raise her eyebrow and look behind him. “Oh! Tweek. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“H-hey Heidi,” Tweek greeted, actually managing a normal looking smile. Looking between the two of them, Kyle rolled his eyes. He supposed that’s what happened when you lived in one place for forever, you just learned everyone. Back home, in New Orleans, he’d known all of the residents in their little chunk of blocks, known more outside of that area, and been on at least good terms with almost every business owner. Here, he felt blind. Even after a year, it wasn’t enough to make him  _ belong _ to Chicago.

Deciding to figure out how Tweek and Heidi were connected at another time, Kyle commented, “Yeah, I decided to drag him along because our next client is bullshit that usually I’d handle. Mr. Black gave them to Tweek this time though, so…” Letting out a disgruntled sound, Kyle said, “Whatever, let me see the art.”

Looking to several of the museum guards she’d brought with her, Heidi checked to make sure the mob wouldn’t crush them before walking with Kyle towards the renewed yellow crime scene tape. It was curious, the relationship that Kyle had observed between Heidi and the law. She didn’t seem to care much for certain parts of it, and in return, the law didn’t care about certain actions of hers. Something was probably going on behind the scenes, but this was Chicago, and that was pretty much a given. 

Lifting the tape, Kyle waited till Tweek had walked under it before passing it to Heidi who let it drop with a snap and crossed her arms. “So,” she started, conversationally almost. “What do you think?”

Trailing his eyes over the psychedelic street art, with the almost offensively garish coloring and pointed reminders of where the bullets had torn small chunks out of the pavement, Kyle let out a low whistle. “Didn’t think they’d get this up close and personal with it, but it’s a nice touch.” Pulling out his camera, Kyle flipped it on and took a few preliminary shots before wandering through the piece. “I never pegged them for an Alice in Wonderland fan.”

“Remember the one on the side of the street car down in the French Quarters?” Heidi reminded him, standing off to the side as Kyle examined the piece for anything that might denote a fake. “That one was definitely of the Queen of Hearts, I don’t care what you say about it.”

Rolling his eyes at the well-worn argument, Kyle turned to Tweek, who was staring at the graffiti with his mouth hanging slightly open. Catching Kyle’s gaze, the man suddenly burst, “Craig would  _ love _ this!”

Ah yes, Craig… Kyle still hadn’t met the man, Tweek’s friend for time immemorial, but he almost sort of resented the fact that the blond talked about him constantly. It was irrational, mostly. Because to be honest Kyle sort of wanted to know how Craig had managed to befriend Tweek when he was still partially convinced that the man was terrified of him.  _ Oh for the love of- Focus on your job Broflovski, stew in your jealous bullshit later. _

Thankfully, while his mind had wandered, Heidi had picked up the threads of the new conversation. “He probably would, wouldn’t he?” Snorting, the woman shook her head and said, “Bee mentioned that he was into politics. Why anyone would be is beyond me…” Shaking her head, she turned back to Kyle and asked, “So how do you want to frame it?”

“Well, if you want it with the Queen painting,” Kyle mused, carefully pacing back through the art as he fussed with his camera. “Then I say we do smaller shots of the bullet holes, then a larger print of the center one, though…” Nudging Tweek to the side a little, Kyle focused his lense on the picture and drew the whole scene into perspective. “This might be a better angle.”

“You did the bus picture head on though,” Heidi pointed out, tapping her foot. “Come on Ky, give me some goddamn continuity here.”

“But the police tape gives it some depth,” Kyle reasoned, looking up from his camera to give her an unimpressed look. “Don’t pull this bullshit with me Turner, you  _ know _ that whatever picture I take is going to be perfect.” Heidi rolled her eyes, but she didn’t contradict him. “Now if we can just-”

“Hey.” Twisting his head sharply in the direction of the voice clearly aimed at them, Kyle narrowed his eyes and observed the young man standing just outside of the police tape. He was tall, but gangly, and Kyle expected that he was younger than them, probably in his late teens.

“Yes?” Heidi cut in, her usual  _ I’m not about to take shit from anyone  _ face already in place. “Are you with the press?”

“No!” the teen said instantly, his expression staying somber, despite Heidi’s almost accusatory tone. Tweek, for some reason, chose this moment to drop to the ground with a shriek. Ignoring this in favor of striding towards Heidi, Kyle looked evenly at the man before raising an eyebrow.

“So what do you want?” he asked, tipping his chin back. Were they acting overly suspicious? Yes. But to be fair, considering where they were living, it was better to be suspicious and safe rather than trusting and dead. 

“I just- I heard Transiental did somethin’ here,” the young man insisted, his brows drawing together. “Painted some shit over everythin’.”

“Yes that’s the general gist of it,” Heidi responded, her tone slightly less abrasive than usual, but still stoney. “Why? If you want to look, feel free to do so but can you do it where everyone else is? We’re actually taking pictures right-”

“NO JESUS DON’T MOVE!!” Tweek yelped. Spinning, Kyle gave the blond a confused look only to find Tweek holding his camera up and pointing at the man they were talking to. “Y-you’re the younger brother of one of the people killed, aren’t you? I saw you in the paper, your brother was Callon, right? ” he asked, his voice only trembling slightly. “You’re Elijah.” At the words, Kyle’s eyes widened. How Tweek could remember all of that was honestly impressive and the fact that he’d been paying attention when  _ no one _ really cared about those almost constant dinky articles about the latest bout of gang violence was beyond him.

Elijah, as he apparently was called, faced Tweek and nodded slowly. “Yeah, he- Yeah, that was ‘im.” And suddenly the lost, dead expression made sense.  _ Oh… Well, I guess that was me back then. _

Softly, still holding the camera up, Tweek asked, “W-would you mind if I took your picture?”

“Why?” Elijah, Heidi, and Kyle asked almost in perfect unison. Because this was supposed to be their chance to get quality prints of the art, not of the random people that showed up to the scene. But Tweek’s usually twitchy face was still and his expression was so… understanding. Like he honestly felt sympathy for the young man in front of them.  _ Why bother, this kind of shit happens every single day. _

Except maybe that was the problem, passing this off as just another instance, more interested in the art than the story behind it. Kyle’s thoughts were backed up by Tweek, who answered, “Because this means more to you than it does to anyone else here.”

“I guess,” Elijah said cautiously. Clearly, Heidi and Kyle weren’t the only ones who knew better than to just trust strangers. Stepping under the tape, he looked around like he was lost and asked, “Where do you want me to stand?”

“Just -ghn- look around and stuff. You wanted to see it r-right?” As the teen started to walk through the picture, his eyes full of emotion rather than the cool objectivism that Kyle and Heidi had both been showing. “Do you know much about what happened?” Tweek asked, and Kyle watched as he adjusted the focus and minutely changed the angle.

“He didn’t mean to get involved in nothin’,” Elijah muttered, shaking his head. “Mama lost her job a couple weeks back, an’ he thought that if he got in with the gang, he’d make enough for the rest of us, but…” He ran a hand through his short hair. “He paid for it, and now no one will hire either of the rest of us.”

There were several consecutive clicks as Tweek took his pictures, before he softly said, “Ngh- I don’t know much about this art, but they’re trying to change things. I think they’ll succeed.” Twitching slightly, the blond tugged at his hair with a hand and mumbled, “I’m sorry about your brother.”

Watching Tweek with an odd expression, Elijah said, “Thanks man.”

In that moment, Kyle realized that Tweek had done what none of them had even considered doing before. Giving someone closure, instead of just hanging up another piece of art and espousing how meaningful it was from the safety of their nice museums. Tweek had crossed a bridge, and Kyle had a feeling that in that moment, something was changing. They wouldn’t be able to take this back.

In a strange voice, Kyle said, “Hey Tweek, make sure to send me that picture once you’ve got it developed.” When the man twisted to look at him, Kyle caught the flicker of wonder, like he was surprised that the redhead would want to see one of his photos. “Will you?” he repeated, when he was fairly certain that Tweek wasn’t going to move any time soon.

“Jesus! Yeah, s-sure,” Tweek agreed, his cheeks going red again.

Heidi’s snort was audible. “You two are just  _ adorable,” _ she drawled. “But we’re burning daylight here, I expect the Public Servicemen will be showing up any moment to get rid of this, so we need to work quickly.” Glancing over at Kyle, she grinned and asked, “Think you can do it Ky?”

“Turner, fuck off, I was born for this,” Kyle retorted, pushing the thoughts on Tweek’s actions out of his mind for the time being. Cracking his knuckles, he started working his magic.

))))-((((

Craig’s head hit his table, waking him up.  _ Shit, haven’t had anything to eat today. I forgot to eat last night. Shit. _

For a day off, he sure had been asked to alter a metric fuckton of dresses. Holding up the latest mess of Jenny’s, which now looked nothing short of perfect, Craig took a deep breath and leaned back. It wasn’t fair that the competent people here had to carry the incompetent ones. But that, according to Bebe, was just how this worked. Granted he’d only really brought it up once, but he’d thought that once was enough.  _ Stop complaining, you’re fine. _

Tiredly, Craig ran his fingers over the intricate beading and sighed softly.  _ It’s alright, it looks fine. You did a good job on it. _ But had he? Was he allowed to look at it and think that he’d done better than what Jenny would have been able to do? What if he was missing something. Sure the woman could turn into a shrieking harpy at times, but he’d seen her praise his work before, so what if this was actually shit?

Glancing up at the clock, which somehow already read five in the evening, Craig let out a groan and stared at the completed dresses neatly hanging up behind him. Finished, just like they were asked to be. Without any warning. As usual. Fuck.

But maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be allowed to go home now. If Bebe handed him any more dresses, he’d just take them back to the apartment and do them there. At least then he might actually get some food. Tweek had offered several times to bring him food, but Craig, who’d been way too busy to take a break, had declined every time. Which was his own damn fault, so he should stop whining about it. For not the first time, Craig recalled Wendy’s astute observation that he probably had an eating disorder with how he acted.  _ Bullshit, I’m just busy. _

Recalling easily the defeat that had run through him when faced with Jenny’s wrath, Craig found himself nitpicking his own work. The sleeves were sitting awkwardly, was the beading a-symmetrical or were his eyes deceiving him? Was the waist too narrow? What had the girl’s measurements been again. He’d been told a thirty waist, but fuck, he was pretty sure that was too small. Obsessively, he measured the waist once more and mumbled profanities under his breath until realizing that no, the waist was actually a thirty and he hadn’t screwed it up in the slightest.

_ But maybe I’m just missing something because I made it… _ As that clawing self-doubt started to work its way out of his throat, Craig stared at his phone and was tempted to call Tweek again. But the blond would probably pick up this time, and Craig wasn’t in any place to actually talk to someone. For a second, he wished that he could just rant to the empty room without sounding crazy, but he was already losing it, he didn’t need any help with that particular aspect of his personality.

God, why did he have to be so bad at this. Running his fingers through the red folds of the dress, Craig counted each beaded detailing that he’d added, trying to find the flaw that Jenny had so obviously found.  _ What did I do, where did I go wrong? _ Irrationally frustrated, Craig growled and curled his fingers around his chullo so he could crush the brim. Everything about it, the layers, the stitching, the beading, the lace, it all looked  _ fine, _ better than fine even! Why the hell did he have to feel like such shit about it then?

_ The only reason I’d feel like this is if there’s something seriously wrong with it. _ Why the hell did he have to be so bad at seeing his own mistakes? Again his eyes gravitated towards the phone and aloud he said, “Why the hell do you even put up with me dude?” Why did  _ anyone _ put up with him? Gritting his teeth together, Craig considered leaving the dresses there and just leaving before Bebe roped him into something more, until the woman herself decided to knock before walking in.

Blinking at the panicked looking Bebe, his migraine making itself as prominent and noticeable as ever, Craig asked, “So can I go home now?” before he could stop himself. By the way her face fell, he knew it was impossible. “Bebe-” he began, unable to just not fight this. “I have been working my ass off today.”

“I know you have,” she said in that singularly heartbroken tone that only a lifelong friend could manage. “But I need you out there, right now. Please Craig.”

“Why right now?” he asked, unable to stay his petulance.  _ For the love of god Bebe, you have several other people out there on the floor working, you have at least three others you could call who would probably come in within the hour. Don’t fucking do this to me. _ But she was going to, he could tell just by looking at her that she was desperate, and that alone was enough to start to convince him.

“Look, Jenny just ran out in the middle of what was supposed a fitting, the girl’s mother and grandmother are furious, Craig  _ please,” _ Bebe begged. “I swear, you can go home after this dress. Take it home or whatever you need to do, just don’t leave me here to deal with this alone.” That, honestly, was tempting. Home before seven? When was the last time  _ that _ had been a reality?  _ It’s not a day off, but it’s as close as I might ever fucking get. _

“Okay, where’s her dress?” Craig asked. As Bebe’s face melted into relief, he couldn’t deny that he didn’t feel a little better about this. She was his friend, he wasn’t going to just abandon her, or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

“She’s not even in it right now, we’re still trying to find it, Jenny wouldn’t tell us where she put it.” Craig started to open his mouth, but Bebe cut him off. “She left crying Craig, don’t give me that face right now. I can’t handle any more of this, okay?” Sucking in a breath, Craig nodded once, before walking past the woman towards where he  _ knew _ from unfortunate experience that Jenny hid dresses she was supposed to be working on.

_ You’re lucky you’re my friend, _ Craig thought as he caught sight of Bebe’s more relaxed shoulders.  _ Otherwise, I’d actually leave. _ Someday he’d escape this place and find somewhere better to work, or maybe he’d just convince Bebe to get rid of the incompetent people clogging their gears, but until then he’d just keep pushing through.

Pulling the dress out of the closet, examining the long layers and the badly tucked waist, Craig knew that there were going to be problems with it instantly, but that didn’t crush his determination in the slightest. No, fixing other people’s shit was just in the job description at this point. So he carried the dress without complaint towards the fitting rooms of the store, where several women waited for him. Who he assumed were the aforementioned mother and Grandmother looked like they were ready to strangle someone. The younger, pretty girl sitting between them with her head down was probably the one he was actually fitting the dress for. Her blond hair tumbled about her face in a mess that reminded him of Tweek somehow.

Scanning the room, eyeing the other people in there, Craig caught sight of Nichole, one of Chicago’s top models and a regular patron of the store, and nodded at her. Smiling one of those million dollar smiles of hers, the woman waved before getting swatted at by her agent, who was helping her with her clothes. Fixing his eyes once more on his customers, Craig looked the girl up and down and said, “Sorry.”

“I would hope so,” the mother griped. “We’ve been waiting here for ages, what kind of service is this? I’m paying top prices for this and we’re getting nothing but trash, I’m disappointed.”

Ignoring the woman, because he hadn’t been talking to her in the first place, Craig let Bebe handle the upset people while he focused on the girl. Sarah, the tag on the dress said, so he decided to go out on a limb. “Sarah?” When looked up and blinked in acknowledgement, he took a breath. There was something about those big, terrified green eyes that made him think of Tweek.  _ Oh shit, she’s probably on the verge of panicking. Anyone would be. _ Actually feeling bad for her, Craig gently said, “There was some confusion, but we’ve got your dress, and it’s going to look fine once we’re done with it.”

_ Or at least, once I’m done with it. _

“Thank you,” Sarah whispered, her bottom lip trembling slightly.  _ Come on, be strong, I know you can do it. _ He didn’t say it though, he didn’t want to embarrass her if he could help it.

“We’ve been out all day,” the grandmother was saying loudly. “I can’t believe that you are so slow around here, we need to get home. We’re leaving for a funeral in California in a day so we need this done tomorrow so we can pick it up beforehand.”

“Don’t worry, Craig is our best seamster, nothing he sews is anything less than perfect.” That, at least, seemed to pacify the women somewhat, and Craig was glad, because the daughter looked like she had put up with enough of them already.  _ How has she not lost her mind? _

Beckoning the girl forward, Craig ushered her towards the small changing room and handed her the dress. “Just get into it and I’ll start pinning it up,” he told her evenly, hoping that he could keep her calm. Usually he didn’t bother caring, but there was something about the way she was almost shivering that tugged on his heart.  _ I understand why Bebe asked me to come out here now… _

It was a scene he’d seen a thousand times before, and he hardly batted an eye as Bebe continued to sooth the mother and Grandmother with what they needed to hear, knowing, even though he was tired and run down that he’d be able to deliver on every promise. Ever since getting involved in sewing when he was younger as a form of stress relief, he’d discovered that he picked up on things fast, and he’d used that to excel at dressmaking, among other things. When Bebe said he could do anything, she wasn’t far off the mark.

Which was a good thing because he’d seen some of Jenny’s classic…  _ work _ on the dress, and that was going to need to be taken care of, other alterations aside. Sarah, he’d absently noticed, had a  _ very _ large chest, and whoever had tried to solve the problems this caused the dress hadn’t known what the fuck they were doing.  _ It’ll be fine, I can fix it. _

Even as he thought this, Sarah stepped out from behind the curtain and peaked out at them. Beckoning the weary girl over, Craig helped her up onto the pedestal in front of the mirror and walked around her, examining how much he’d need to fix while the girl looked at her reflection fearfully. Needless to say, it was a mess. 

Wobbly and uneven were the only words he could use to describe the hem, which was the first tally on the  _ what did Jenny fuck up _ list. The full circle-skirt was twisting in on itself, making the dress look like it was strangling its own folds of fabric. Craig didn’t comment on it though, he just mentally started working through how he could fix the curvature of it.  _ Shouldn’t be a problem, it’s just some physics… _

Moving around to the front, the Noirette examined the top with a critical eye, and made another mark on his mental checklist.  _ It’s worse than I thought. _ At this point, expecting the worst would almost be a better indicator because this was just so  _ classically _ fucked to the point of being almost offensive that Craig started to wonder if Jenny could actually do anything right.

Originally, he assumed, the lace-covered top had been in a corset style, with little straps of ribbon weaving up the back and holding it together. In theory, this would have been fine, but when stretched over Sarah’s ample chest, it didn’t  _ fit right. _ Someone had tried to put an extra panel of fabric in the back to help solve this problem, but unfortunately, they’d screwed it up, which was pretty typical.  _ Good idea, bad execution. What else is new. _

As the girl twisted her neck, trying to see more of the dress, Craig started running further calculations, already setting up a game plan for how to remedy the mistakes that had been made.  _ If I redo the panel, I can probably give her more support, but how much did they cut into and how much do I have to work with?  _ The Noirette probably would have continued in this train of thought for a while longer if he hadn’t been jolted back to the present by a snappy voice.

“Ugh, I hate it.” Turning to look Sarah’s mother, Craig stepped aside as the woman bustled forward. “It’s absolutely hideous on her, this dress is supposed to make her look better, not worse.”

As the Grandmother joined her, Craig cast a look at the girl in the mirror, only to hear the older woman grumble, “You can see her  _ back fat, _ look at it, it’s just hanging out everywhere. How on earth do you expect to go anywhere like this?”

Craig meanwhile was trying to figure out what they were complaining about. Sarah was  _ tiny, _ or at the very least thin. Sure, the straps were cutting into her back but that was because of poor fitting on the dress’s part, not because of the girl’s size. But the mother was harshly pinching the imagined rolls, and Craig didn’t want to risk telling them to  _ shut up _ because he had a feeling that Bebe wouldn’t like those customer service skills.

“Look, are you seeing this?” the mother demanded, her words aimed at Craig. Pulling harsly at the tiny straps so that they dug in even more to Sarah’s back, she angrily continued, “This makes her look ugly, look at that blubber just everywhere, I’m not going to put up with this!”

_ Of course if you pull on them she’s going to look like she has fat rolls. That’s not a weight thing, that’s just a fucking body thing. What do you think you’re going to prove. _ Pressuring himself into acting collected and not mildly irked, Craig tried to pay attention instead of staring at Sarah’s face in the mirror. As the mother and grandmother continued to rant about every little thing that they could find that was wrong, the Noirette kept watching the girl’s face grow progressively more and more panicked and miserable.

_ Just shut up, am I the only one to see what this is doing to her? _ It was so blatantly obvious that she was headed down fast, but no one seemed to care enough to say something. Shooting a pointed look at Bebe, Craig pulled his expressionless face into a slightly pointed look that said,  _ will you get them to stop _ more clearly than he could.

Picking up on it, Bebe swiftly stepped in and said, “Of course, we’ll get that all figured out. The hem needs to be redone, and there are some minor adjustments to the waistline that I can see. As for the bodice, we should be able to fix that back so that it looks better on her figure. It’ll likely clear up the back fat problem entirely. As I said, Craig can fix almost anything.”

“At this point you might as well redo the entire thing because it’s just abysmal. I can’t believe that we’re trying to even save this dress.” Staring at the grandmother with his usual deadpan, Craig made up his mind to speed this along. If he could placate the two women, he’d be able to get Sarah through this fitting and out of a messed up dress before anyone lost their shit. After having known Tweek for as long as he had, the Noirette knew that Sarah wasn’t going to last much longer under this sort of strain.

Course of action decided, Craig cut into the conversation with a even, “It’s not beyond repair, it’s going to be a pretty simple fix actually.” Expertly pulling at each of the guilty seams, the man continued, “This back panel isn’t as bad as it looks, and the hem I can fix pretty easily as well.” Maybe it was how even his voice was, or maybe it was the fact that he was able to pinch the dress into a bit better approximation of the correct style, but the maternal presences calmed at last.

Using this as an opportunity to keep the conversation away from Sarah and just focus it on the technicalities of the dress, Craig just let his stream of consciousness take over, narrating his thoughts as he worked through the different possibilities for the dress. He even got the Grandmother to nod along approvingly, which he considered a win. More than that, he could tell that Sarah had relaxed, which was the most important thing.

_ Tweek hates it when he breaks down in front of strangers, other people are mostly the same. _

“The back looks too plain, I want to add lace over it.”  _ Oh boy… _ Swiveling slowly to face the mother, Craig caught sight of Bebe’s look, which clearly said  _ please don’t screw this up _ and he took a deep breath.

Unexpectedly, Sarah spoke up. “But Mom, this is the style of dress I wanted. As long as Mr. Craig can fix it, can’t we just keep it? It’s my prom after a-”

The mother snapped, her voice raising to something approaching a yell. “Well you’re not looking at it! I am, so keep your mouth  _ shut.” _ Fuming, the woman continued, “Your Grandmother and I are the ones trying to actively take an interest in what’s best for you because we don’t want you to look like a  _ hag. _ Just let us fix this for you!”

Meanwhile Craig wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to say. On one hand he could tell that they were all stressed and the timing clearly wasn’t good, but did they have to yell at her like this? Naturally stepping in wasn’t exactly his place, but he was starting to feel like he should do  _ something _ before Sarah broke down entirely. 

Tremulously, Sarah insisted, “I- I just want to give my opinion, Mom, it’s  _ my _ dress.” Her words were so fragile, yet she was trying hard to hold it together against the force of two angry women. “I can have thoughts on it too, and I just-”

“That’s all you’ve been doing, telling us what you’re thinking!” Face going red with anger, the mother screeched. “This whole time you’ve given us your damn opinion and you just won’t shut up and I’m sick of it!”  _ Holy shit, she hasn’t even said a fucking word this whole time. _ Before Craig could snap however, Bebe butted in.

“Let’s let Craig do what he needs to do, come on.” Pulling them away from the girl, Bebe tittered, “I’m sure that together we can make Sarah’s dress perfect. Craig is our best, after all.”

_ Not the best, just the only one in this place who knows what they’re fucking doing. _

Pulling out his star pins, Craig set to work at once. As he was forced to get into Sarah’s personal space, he attempted to make small talk with her. “So, I take it you were the one who asked for this design?”

Letting out a little breath, no doubt glad for the distraction from her insane adults, Sarah nodded, a smile making its way onto her lips. “Yeah, I picked it out and everything, I’ve been so excited for this.” As her eyes started shining with happier thoughts, Craig continued to pin up the dress, tucking in thing’s here and there, always checking to make sure that it was sitting right.

Of course it did, he was that good, but he still liked to be doubly certain.

While he pinned, he continued to ask easy questions, soothing the girl to the best of his ability. He’d learned over time that sometimes it wasn’t the words, it was just the calm sounds that settled someone. If he could make her feel even slightly better, then he’d have done his job right.

Stepping back at last, Craig puffed out his cheeks before asking, “So, does this look better?” He knew it did, but he wanted to give Sarah the chance to make the decision herself. Almost at once, the girl’s bottom lip began to tremble.

“Oh my god, it’s beautiful, thank you so much,” she breathed, turning on the pedestal and trying to see herself from every angle. “I- I don’t look so bad anymore, the dress makes me look pretty.” Holding a hand to her mouth, she mumbled, “I didn’t think that I could look this amazing, you’re a miracle worker.”

“It’s not the dress, it’s you.” Turning, Craig found Nichol standing there, despite her agent’s attempts to call her back. As Sarah’s eyes widened at the model’s presence, the mocha-skinned woman reached out and brushed the girl’s blond hair behind her back before calmly saying, “You have beautiful posture and your shape is gorgeous all on its own. The dress is just using that natural beauty. If you didn’t have it, this wouldn’t look quite as good.”

“Wait, what?” Sarah stared at the reflection of Nichole with wide, almost petrified eyes.

Sighing, the model calmly said, “You really are beautiful hon, and you carry yourself so wonderfully, I just had to tell you.”

Chiming in, Craig said, “She’s right you know, I wish everyone who came in here had a figure like yours.” Perhaps he should have guessed that the violent oscillation of emotions would get her, but the Noirette hadn’t. And so he couldn’t do a thing as the girl started crying, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

Instantly, Nichole’s perfect face crumpled into a display of sympathy. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she started to say, turning the girl around so that she could dab at her eyes gently.

“No no,” Sarah whimpered. “This is a  _ good _ thing. I just wanted to look pretty in this dress, and everything went wrong, but now it’s fixed and I- I just-”

“Come on hon, Craig can do anything, he’s a master at this.” Leading the girl away from the pedestal, Nichole shot a quick look over at Craig before saying to Sarah, “Let’s get you out of this so that he can start fixing it. It’s going to be okay.”

Watching as they left, Craig stood there and waited until the girl came out once more before walking over to them. She was still crying, but at least he was able to take the dress from her. Almost at once Nichole bent down so she could give the tiny girl a hug that was likely smothering but seemed to be exactly what she needed. 

“It’s going to be alright,” Nichole insisted into the girl’s hair, her voice firm. “Here, you’re surrounded by strong women, you’re a strong woman too. You can do this, I know that you can.”

“I just wanted to look nice,” Sarah repeated, pulling away from the hug so she could sniffle loudly and wipe at her eyes. “And when it was pinned it looked so good, but- but what if it’s me and not the dress at all.”

_ Oh hell- _ Though he usually wouldn’t have, Craig reached out a hand and caught one of Sarah’s. Squeezing it in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture, he solidly deadpanned, “It’s not you, it’s the dress.” Holding it up, Craig evenly continued, “These dresses are meant to fit mannequins, not people. I’m going to make it fit  _ you.” _

Without much warning, Sarah lunged forward and hugged Craig tightly, her arms locking into a vice like hold as she sobbed, “Thank you, thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me, thank you.”

Allowing himself to be hugged, Craig’s usually flat face pulled into a strange expression before he gently patted her hair. “It’s okay, I promise that I’ll make you look perfect.” Because even though he only had one evening to do it in, he would. Of that much, he was sure.

And even though it was Eleven at night before he was leaving, Craig felt at least marginally satisfied. Sarah, in the end, had looked gorgeous, and Craig had gotten several more hugs from her.  _ Admit it, _ he thought to himself, tugging his chullo down over his forehead as he locked the back door behind him.  _ This is the reason that you do this job. For moments like that. _

The lights in the alley flickered, but he paid them no mind. His concern was keeping the two dresses in his arms from dragging across the dirty ground. As was typical in Chicago, the city felt darker than it really was, but Craig had gotten used to it a long time ago. This job made him keep crazy hours, and he knew how to handle them.

Still, he took a moment to rest his head against the door before going anywhere.  _ Fuck, it was supposed to my day off. _ Well, had he really expected anything different? One of these days, he’d figure this stuff out. Or maybe not, maybe he was doomed to run himself into the ground. Despite being a depressing thought, it was one that Craig felt was more of a destiny than a mere postulate. When was the last time he’d even properly slept.

Finally deciding to get his butt in gear and get out of there, Craig pushed himself off of the wall and spun around, intent on getting to his car and leaving before he fell asleep where he stood. These plans, however, shattered the moment his eyes fell on the wall opposite the door. His first thought was  _ what the fuck _ which was quickly followed by  _ holy shit, that’s beautiful. _ It was only then that he fully took in what he was seeing.

The letters were in dark blue, like the color of his hat, like the color of a night sky. They were supported by two hands, one that held a needle and thread, the other which held a yard of what looked like lace, which draped down over the dirty bricks. Every bit of the art was surrounded in a pale glow that, even though he could sort of guess how it had been done, still made his jaw go slack.

_ Hands that Work Miracles, _ the piece of graffiti said, uncaring about who saw it. It just stated the fact plainly, like it wasn’t up for debate.

_ It’s not for me, _ Craig immediately thought, squashing the thing that fluttered inside him stupidly as he stared blankly at the wall.  _ It’s stupid to even think that someone would say something like that about me, there are so many other people who work here, I’m not the only one. _

_ Hands that Work Miracles. _ No, the words were familiar. He’d heard them before. They’d been used so many times by people to describe his work, and earlier, they’d been what Jenny threw at him furiously when he’d touched the dress she’d been working on. _ You don’t work miracles _ like he believed people for a second when they said that he did.

But as he stared at the art on the dirty brick wall, Craig felt something swell in his chest that made it hard to breathe. It was so  _ beautiful _ and even though he couldn’t prove that it was directed at him, he felt some of the wear and tear from the day melt off of him at the compliment. No, the fact. The indisputable proof that what Craig did wasn’t worthless, or flawed, but good, and worth something.

Even though there was no one to hear his words, Craig let out a breath and softly murmured, “Thank you. I- I needed that.”

Then, before he could change his mind, Craig fished out his phone from his pocket and took a picture of the graffiti. As he did so, one thing that he hadn’t noticed before. It was the signature at the bottom of the art, marking the maker of this beautiful thing.

_ Transiental. _

_ Whoever you are, _ Craig thought, slowly backing down the alley so he could stare at the image for as long as possible.  _ Thank you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _and so it begins_.


	6. Dudgeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **_Dudgeon_ **
> 
> dud·geon \ ˈdə-jən \  
>  _Noun_
> 
>  **Definition**  
>  1 : a fit or state of indignation at injustice:  
>  2 : a feeling of offense or resentment; anger:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cori, I honestly adore you to pieces.
> 
> NOW WRITE ME ART CLASS OR YOU WON'T GET TWEEK'S PERSPECTIVE.
> 
> Angel, I hope you're doing alright, I love you Mom~ <3
> 
> To everyone else, Enjoy!

_ Thank you. _

Kenny wasn’t sure what he was supposed to even say.

_ I needed that. _

Starboy’s car had already driven away, with all its rattling and odd sounds. The night had already gone back to being relatively peaceful, but the Sandy-blond just sat there, his back pressed against the brick work of the building opposite the dress shop. He’d been holding his breath, not wanting to alert the Noirette to his presence, but to be honest, Kenny had sort of forgotten  _ how _ to breathe.

He’d never been thanked for his art before. Sure, it had been praised many a time before. He wasn’t unused to people claiming it to be beautiful, or celebrated for its potency, but the hatred for it stood out, and the fact it  _ always _ got covered up stuck out to him like a sore thumb. But… Starboy had said  _ thank you _ and Kenny knew just how much the man had meant it by that gentle, hushed tone he’d used. 

Hell, he’d said he  _ needed _ that. Kenny wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to do with that information. Sure, he’d stuck around for the reaction, but he’d expected a softened facial expression, maybe a smile, and nothing more. But instead, he’d gotten to hear that deep, calm voice admit, albeit inferentially, that his day had indeed sucked, and he’d been feeling terrible. And the Sandy-blond’s art, while not fixing everything, had taken away some of that pain.

Unexpectedly, the man found himself rubbing at his chest as something warm blossomed there.  _ Hah, you don’t even know who I am, Starboy, you shouldn’t get to make me feel soft like this. _ Drawing a deep breath, Kenny finally got to his feet, before stepping out to glance over his own art. Yeah, this piece wasn’t going to make it into the news, no one would ever hang it up in a museum, but somehow, the Seamster’s reaction had made it worth so much more than anything else he’d done.

Drawing in a deep breath, Kenny gave a slight smile and dipped his head. Well, he might not have looked for a job today, but this was far better.

“I know you thanked me,” the blond mumbled, glancing over at the door and nibbling on his top lip. “But I feel like I should be thanking you.”

Eyes traveling to the sky, at how dark it was, the Sandy-blond puffed out his cheeks.  _ Well, I feel like I should do something, it’s not nearly late enough to go home.  _ He was still avoiding his Landlord, technically. Feeling some of the weight of reality return, Kenny tried to think of a place to go while he stared at the door to the Dress Shop.

He was about to wander away when an impulsive idea hit him. Digging around in his pockets for some of the leftover stencil paper and tape that he’d stashed there and forgotten to take out, Kenny patted his pockets until he found a pencil. Using the door as a surface to write on, the man quickly scrawled his message out, his handwriting a tad messy, but good enough to read. Once he was satisfied, he ripped off a piece of tape with his teeth and affixed the paper to the door. It might wash away, but hopefully, the Noirette would see it before it did.

_ You’re a pretty cool guy, Starboy, no one’s ever thanked me for my art before. _

_ T~ _

It wasn’t perfect, hell, it was pretty vague, but he didn’t care. Considering the fact he wouldn’t be able to really talk to the guy otherwise, this seemed like his best course of action. Humming softly, Kenny stepped back and shoved the unused supplies back into his hoodie pockets. If anyone else found it, they’d be confused, but if the Noirette found it, he’d understand. That, in the end, was all that mattered.

Pulling his hoodie up, Kenny slipped his hands back into his pockets and hummed subduedly as he wandered away from the scene, set on finding something else to do before he returned home, hopefully after his Landlord had given up. But even as he put distance between himself and the scene, the freckled-blond’s thoughts were back with the Noirette and everything he’d seen that day. From the man’s treatment by his colleagues, to the reaction he’d given to the art on the wall opposite his store. 

It wasn’t like he couldn’t relate to that exhaustion. Despite being in a different situation than Starboy was, Kenny knew what it was like to get run down to the point where even a slight bit of compassion meant the world.  _ And I was able to give that to him. _

“Aw, c’mon, let’s not get too excited, it’s not like we’ll ever be able to admit that we were watching him through the window,” Kenny told himself, snorting bitterly as he said it. Well, that much was true, he wasn’t about to admit to anyone, least of all someone he’d just used his art to communicate with, who he was.  _ Yeah, sorta screwed myself over there. _ But, well… Then this would be the extent of his communications with the man.

Which was fine, at least he’d made Starboy smile.

Chicago at night wasn’t quite as terrifying as everyone said it was, to someone like Kenny, who’d lived in New Orleans his whole life, it was practically like a home away from home. As he passed people in the streets, he refrained from making eye contact, instead choosing to concentrate on his surroundings. 

There was a dull thrumming from the streets, as cars passed by on other roads, their headlights occasionally flashing in his eyes. Each street lamp seemed to cast a different flood of light on the tarmac, some flickering, some dim, some yellowed and some a bluish flush. Despite the street not being lined with as many neon signs as Kenny’s old home was known for, there was a specific sort of existence that the lights still flooding onto the streets denoted. A different life, so far up north compared to Louisiana. The Sandy-blond found it comforting, at a level he couldn’t explain.

Some of the most reassuring things couldn’t be put into words, after all.

The cracked pavement scraped under his shoes as the man scuffed his sneakers over it. He enjoyed the shuffle- _ crunch _ it produced, the sound soothing to his tired mind. There was a lot he didn’t want to think about, the fact he was as of now unemployed high on that list, but the night air was slowly leaching those things away from him, leaving Kenny feeling loose, unconcerned. Though he never stopped watching the people around him from the corners of his eyes, he was able to relax. That’s what the streets did to him. 

There wasn’t much else that could do similar.

It would have been nice to have other things in his life that brought him peace, but Kenny liked to think he was too restless to just  _ calm down. _ The best art he’d ever done was a product of the way his mind never stopped thinking, never stopped  _ picking _ apart the status quo, never stopped questioning what people claimed was normal and okay. No one else seemed willing to do it, so the Sandy-blond took it upon himself to do it for them.

Maybe someday people would wisen up, but… Well, you couldn’t expect the world to change overnight. Sometimes, all you could hope was that people would read the writing on the walls.

Flicking his eyes over the street sign he’d come up to, Kenny felt a couple fuses in his brain spark and he came out of his reverie.  _ Huh, I wandered a ways… _ Glancing down the street, examining the late night shops and bars that dotted this particular portion of town, the man found a smile creeping up over his relaxed face. Now this, this could be a good way to spend some time. Especially because two blocks down was the Black Penny, one of the best bars in the city. 

And unlike its namesake down in New Orleans, this place  _ hadn’t _ banned him yet for punching someone.

_ Eh, admit it, he was asking for it by reaching up that drunk girl’s skirt. _ Kenny snorted. You’d think that at some point he’d have learned not to play the hero when it would only hurt him, but he could be surprisingly obtuse when he was morally obligated to be. And when it came to protecting people who weren’t able to protect themselves for whatever reason, then self preservation was the last thing on his mind.

Perhaps someday, that would change, but for now, Kenny was as content as a poor boy living in the middle of Chicago could be. And to him, that was pretty damn content.

Making his way down the well lit nightlife of Chicago, watching as laughing people stumbled out of restaurants and bars, their eyes glowing with joy, the Sandy-blond found himself smiling as well. Local dinners winked back at him, and the neon of their signs cast his face into a familiar glow. Dodging around a tipsy couple, who seemed entirely enamored with their surroundings, Kenny glanced to the side to see the dilapidated shop that had been closed down six months back. Seeing the stark outline of the picture he’d left there on the window, despite the attempts to cover it up, the man found himself smiling somewhat grimly.

Yeah, the city did its best to stop him, but there were somethings that did their best to last. The business had belonged to an African-American family that had been nice to Kenny when he’d first moved in. Yet the city had crushed them, the cities new regulations brought in under Leopold Stotch destroying the shop’s hopes of surviving. Kenny had been there the day they’d been evicted, thrown out onto the street with nowhere to go. It still pained him to see the place, and it still left his gut bubbling with no small amount of contempt.

While he would do art for anyone with a story to tell that he stumbled across, that particular piece had been personal. The piece had been of a homeless man, wasting away by the side of the road. Above him and behind him stood faceless suited men who were in the process of tying a sign around his neck.  _ Property of the State _ it had read. Because at the end of the day, weren’t they all under the thumb of the government?

Turning away from the dilapidated and more frustratingly  _ empty _ building, one that could have still supported people if the banks hadn’t seized the place, Kenny sighed. No, he was in a good mood. If he got too angry, he’d end up back out here at three in the goddamn morning creating something, and he really didn’t have the energy to pull another all nighter.

Even he had to sleep, sometimes. Though that fact was up for debate and he was fully willing to go toe to toe with anyone that assumed he actually knew what getting a good night’s rest was.

Crossing the street, keeping his eyes on the traffic around him because he didn’t need to get hit with a car  _ again, _ Kenny pulled a lazy grin onto his face as he pushed open the doors of the Black Penny. Almost instantly he was enveloped by the smell of cigarette smoke and hard liquor. Breathing it in with no small amount of nostalgia, Kenny glanced around the place, taking in the familiar decor.

The wood of the walls was worn, and the drinks seemed to reach the ceiling in long shelves that stretched from wall to wall. There were the usual patrons clustered around their favorite tables, and the predictable drunks were all lined up at the bar, but there was a seat open, and that’s where Kenny headed, weaving through black and oak tables till he reached the bar. 

As he sat down, a well known smile accompanied by its customary chuckle slid before him, his bright eyes already taking Kenny’s appearance in. “Well, well, w-w-w-well,” the bar’s owner commented in that perpetually amused tone the Sandy-blond had gotten to know so well. “If it isn’t the ess-s-s- The  _ esteemed _ Kenny McCormick~”

“Hey Valmer,” Kenny returned, giving Jimmy finger guns and a lazy wink. “Tell me, what’s shaking in your part of town?” The brunet grinned at him and turned, already throwing together a drink for him. Watching as the man poured carbonated water into the mix, the mischievous blond called, “Really, a Fizz? Well, I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”

“Considering it’s on the house,” Jimmy responded, measuring out the Scotch with just a twitch of his wrist. “I’d s-s-s-say you shouldn’t~” Twisting to slide Kenny’s drink over the counter, the bartender leaned forward and said, “B-b-between you and me, I think business is real-l-l- Business is reaaaa- I’m s-starting to turn more of a proffit than usual. It’s quite nice.”

Giving the place another once over, Kenny admitted, “Well, it is looking a little fuller than usual. I’m glad, this place deserves it.” He meant the words, and Jimmy’s smile made his own expression loosen that much more.

He’d always enjoyed the man, ever since listening to him rattle off an original and pretty terrible stand-up routine to him when Kenny had come in after a particularly bad day. By the end of it, he’d been laughing to the point of tears, and from that day forward, he’d considered the bartender to be one of his friends. Jimmy was a brilliant person and an excellent entrepreneur, and unlike others in his shoes, he wasn’t an asshole. It was comforting to know there were some left, considering how much time Kenny spent pointing out the worst of people.

“Well, after R-r-r- After the bar down the street closed, I suppose it was only natural,” Jimmy commented, sliding off down the bar to go deal with another customer. At the words, some of Kenny’s good mood soured slightly. Another place no doubt crushed by the regulations.While he might have been delighted for his friend, he wasn’t happy that other people had to suffer for that good fortune.  _ Shit man, when are they going to figure out the damn things don’t work? _

Maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe it would be up to him to start protesting them. Maybe, he’d be able to enact some change.

Or maybe, as the first sip of his drink slid down his throat, that was just the tiredness talking. He could craft as much art as he pleased, but politicians never listened. Not even ones as kind and well meaning as Butters seemed to be. As a sour taste rose in the wake of his drink, Kenny grunted and furrowed his brows before shaking off the momentary surge of irritation.  _ There isn’t enough time to change everything, sometimes, all you can change is one thing at a time. _

Thankfully, his thoughts were interrupted by the loud cry of, “KENNY! DRINK WITH MEE!!” Twisting in his seat, Kenny found himself smiling slightly at the sight of Stan Marsh stumbling towards him with two glasses of beer and a grin on his face. Sliding off of his bar stool so he could help his friend before he fell over, Kenny glided over to Stan and caught one of the glasses of beer before it slipped out of his fingers.

“Eyy, Stanial, what a welcome surprise,” Kenny said smoothly, laughing as his raven-haired friend gave him a sloppy smile, clearly already slightly tipsy. “I didn’t know you were up here.”

“I texted you,” Stan complained, hooking his arm around Kenny’s and dragging the man over to the other end of the bar, not caring about the drinks the Sandy-blond was juggling. “But you never answered. I was worried you’d finally ended up dead in a gutter somewhere haha.” Rolling his eyes, Kenny ambled along after his friend, a smile already edging its way back onto his face.

“Come on Marsh, have a little more faith in me, do I look like gutter material? I’m sidewalk shit at  _ least.” _ Stan let out a loud laugh before tossing back a third of his drink in one go. Permitting himself to be sort of slung into the stool next to the Raven’s seat, Kenny set his two drinks down and grinned over at Jimmy, who shook his head in amusement. Everyone knew how Stan was, the man was a good guy, but he tended to get drunk a bit too easily. That combined with his proclivity for getting addicted to things brought him around to this strip of bars almost every night. It might have been a problem, but Kenny wasn’t about to stop the man from living his own life.

“So what you been up to?” Stan asked, his easy grin coming out from over his glass. “I mean, it’s not often Kenny of all people leaves his phone at home.” The man had a point, but it only made Kenny chuckle.

“You know how it is, the Landlord wouldn’t stop calling. I dislike dealing with his sorry ass,” Kenny commented flippantly, sipping at his own drink. He tended to go easy when it came to alcohol, though that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself every once in a while. And tonight felt like one of those nights.

“Ouch, sounds like a pain,” Stan commiserated, pulling a face. “They’re always shitty, they wouldn’t be grouchy landlords if they weren’t.” Which almost made sense, so Kenny decided the man wasn’t as drunk as he’d originally assumed. 

“Hey, I still had a great day despite it,” Kenny said, tipping his drink to Jimmy, who slid down the bar so he could join in the conversation. “Trust me, it would take a lot more than Richard Adler to ruin my day.” Stan chortled and took another swig of beer, but Jimmy raised an eyebrow.

“So, w-w-what did you get up to today? Since you weren’t answer your pho-o-o-o-phone.” Eyes drifting over to Jimmy, Kenny opened his mouth before shutting it again and humming. The only thing he could think of was the Noirette he’d met at the dress shop, and he wasn’t sure how to put  _ that _ encounter into words. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Stan seemed to be able to read minds.

“Oh ho! Was that a  _ blush _ I just saw on your face, McCormick?” Staring skeptically at Stan, who was smirking from ear to ear, Kenny resisted the urge to put a hand to his face to check to see if this  _ blushing _ rumor was true.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Stanial~” Kenny crooned instead, sipping at his drink as though there was nothing wrong.

“I h-h-h- I h-a-a- I’m forced to concede Stanley’s point, Kenny,” Jimmy commented, swishing a cloth over the glass in his hands, a grin high on his face. “Your face is indeed v-v-v-very red.” 

Continuing to smile blithely, Kenny calmly replied, “Must be the alcohol.”

“So, who did you meet?” Stan asked, lacing his fingers under his chin and wiggling his eyebrows. Rolling his eyes at the man’s antics, Kenny scoffed and shook his head. “You can’t just tease us like this Kenny, it’s unfair.”

“You’re teasing yourself,” Kenny pointed out. “I’m not saying  _ an-y-thing.” _

“Considering what we already know about him,” Jimmy said, putting up a hand. “It’s m-m-m-man-”

“Hey, I’ll have you know, I’m attracted to personality not genitalia,” Kenny interrupted as Jimmy ticked off a finger.

“And he’s tall,” Stan encouraged, grinning as Kenny let out a cry of indignation.

“And he’s got to be my-y-myyyss- He has to intrigue Kenny in some way,” Jimmy said, ticking off another finger.

“He’s probably a sweetheart,” Stan said, cackling. “Come on Kenny, we know your type.”

“You’ve seen me hit on all of one person and they hardly matched that description at all,” Kenny complained, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, but we see who you talk to,” Jimmy pointed out, shrugging. “So, did you m-m-m-meet someone, Kenny?”

Humming around the rim of his drink, Kenny finally gave in. “Starboy isn’t just someone, he’s a tall, beautiful Seamster who’s  _ far _ too cool for someone like me~” He said it in a jokingly haughty manner, but he wasn’t entirely sure if he wasn’t being serious. “He has a job, that automatically puts him out of my league.”

While Jimmy quirked an eyebrow at the comment, Stan let out a loud sigh. “I should have known it, you got fired again.”

“Something like that,” Kenny responded offhandedly, not really interested in getting into the story. “I was bored, and I just happened to stumble across Starboy. It was quite fun, I enjoyed myself. But it’s a one-time thing, you know?” Which made it sound like he’d actually talked to him, but no one needed to know he’d simply sat outside the man’s window and eavesdropped on his conversations.

As Jimmy was called away by another patron, Stan put an arm around Kenny’s shoulders and said, in a very serious and somber tone, “Kenny, I hate to break it to you but you are devilishly charming and very good looking. You need to stop acting like you don’t deserve good things. It’s kind of depressing.”

“Says the nihilist,” Kenny quipped, sipping nonchalauntly at his drink.

“Ouch, that hurt,” Stan whined, pulling a puppy-dog look.

“I’m sorry,” Kenny said, with as much sincerity as Stan had used earlier. “Now are you going to try and drink me under the table, or am I going to be sober for the rest of the night?”

And like that the conversation moved on. Kenny knew that he’d end up thinking about the Noirette again at some point, but for now at least, he could take a break from thinking. Who knew, maybe Stan would end up being right.

After all, no one said Kenny couldn’t have a miracle or two himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Kenny, if only you knew...


End file.
